The Anointed
by Darkness7
Summary: Hard to describe this saga in a few lines but I'll have a go anyway. Brooklyn goes behind the clan's back to get revenge against Demona, which may eventually lead to the world's destruction when other forces intervene. Completed up to Chapter 20.
1. Nightmare

Nightmare  
  
  
  
Author's note: I have borrowed the Malus Codicium from a sci-fi author called Dan Abnett and apologise profusely for doing so. Please don't sue me! I've only got 37p in my bank account and I need it to buy some lunch! Enjoy! (P.S I don't know how to spell Macbeth's wife's name so I'm having a guess. Thank you and enjoy.)  
  
He strode through an immense garden, the sun rested in a totally clear and brilliantly blue sky. He could all but taste the sweet air, made even better by the scents of a thousand different species of flowers. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He looked around himself, in awe of the immense beauty of this place.  
  
Is this Heaven?  
  
"My beloved!"  
  
He turned around to find himself face to face with his love.  
  
Grouarch?  
  
His first wife stood before him, in her wedding gown. She was as beautiful as the day he had first fallen in love with her. She held out her hand to him.  
  
"Come back to me my love, my soul yearns for your touch again." He tried to reply, but he couldn't find the words. He had missed her so much. He stretched his hand out to hers...  
  
And then, she came...  
  
He writhed in pain as a pair of azure colored hands with talons on the fingertips dug into his shoulders and started dragging him away from his beloved wife. She screamed in terror and grabbed on to his hand, pulling desperately to save him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the main of red hair, the glowing red eyes, and the cruel mouth with the equally cruel smile.  
  
Demona.  
  
She was in a dark void, and she was dragging him in with her. He could feel his grip on his love loosening as Demona pulled harder, she was laughing at his wife's futile efforts to save him.  
  
He looked around at Grouarch, for a brief second, their eyes met, and then he was wrenched away from her, screaming in rage and frustration as the darkness enveloped him.  
  
He was standing in the middle of a well-furnished room; it seemed vaguely familiar, although he couldn't exactly place when he'd last been here. There was an enormous, elaborately decorated fireplace at one end of the room, with two chairs facing it, one of which was occupied.  
  
In the chair sat a small girl, barely four years old. She sported short, strawberry-blonde locks and a peasant's dress.  
  
Oh God no! Please God no!  
  
The young girl turned her head to face him; she looked ecstatic to see him. She jumped from her chair in excitement.  
  
"Uncle Lennox!" she yelled in happiness as she raced to embrace him.  
  
I don't want to see this! I don't want to see this!  
  
The little girl raced to him as fast as she could, desperate to give her adopted uncle the biggest hug she could manage, but then it started.  
  
She grew older, with each step she aged at least five years. He tried to turn his head before it was too late, but his neck wouldn't co-operate, he could feel something with inhuman strength hold his head in place. The little girl was half way to him now, she was in her late thirties, by the time she was but a few feet away, she was over seventy. The old woman staggered towards him.  
  
"It's me, Rebecca! Don't you recognize me?" said the old woman cheerfully, before she shuddered while her eyes rolled inwards. Her corpse fell forward into him and he caught it. Tears gushed from his eyes as he screamed in anguish and then horror, as Rebecca's corpse rotted away to dust in his arms. He heard that damn laughter again. It was behind him now. He felt the grip on his neck vanish and he spun around to face her again.  
  
Demona was smiling at him.  
  
"Shall we look at Paul next?" she asked, her smile deepened," Or how about Patricia? We could always pay a visit to that family you befriended during the Inquisition? You remember them don't you?"  
  
Not them! Oh God not them!  
  
He was in the middle of a crowd. Watching a raised platform as it burned. Upon the platform were four figures tied to wooden stakes. A middle-aged man, his wife.  
  
.and two young boys.  
  
Mercifully, the two children had been strangled before hand.  
  
But the parents.  
  
He felt the hands hold his head in place as they writhed in agony. He desperately tried to shut out their screams and their pleas for assistance. He struggled like a man possessed. He had to help them! But his captor was too strong, no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break free.  
  
He looked into the woman's agonized face as she finally ceased her writhing and slumped forward. The man took far longer.  
  
"Old Migel was always a tough bastard," he heard Demona chuckle behind him. She released him. He spun around, tears in his eyes.  
  
I'll destroy her! I swear to God I'll destroy her.  
  
Before him stood a young woman. She had a thick mane of fire red hair and a golden crown on her head. She was in a wedding dress. She opened her arms to him, a yearning look on her face, he felt inexplicably drawn to her, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, she returned the kiss.  
  
Suddenly he felt a strange aura around this woman, this woman whom he trusted and loved deeply. His eyes shot open in pain as he felt inhuman fangs clamp down on his tongue, he could taste blood in his mouth, he let go of her and staggered back, clutching his mouth as blood seeped through his fingers, he looked at his love, frightened and confused at this almost sadist act. His eyes widened in horror as he saw whom his love really was.  
  
Demona stood before him, wearing the same wedding dress; she was smiling mockingly at him. "Was I as good as Grouarch?" she said before she began laughing hysterically at him.  
  
Rage filled every cell in his being. He was visibly shaking. With a howl he hurled himself at his tormentor, the reason he had to endure all the suffering of others over the generations, intent on wringing her treacherous little neck, but before he was even close, she vanished, while her laughter hung in the air.  
  
He was standing in the middle of immense church, a cathedral. The altar lay roughly thirty feet away from him, he felt a strange rushing sensation at his feet, he looked down, and gasped.  
  
Blood, the entire cathedral floor was ankle deep in blood.  
  
He looked up again at the altar, on the steps before it; lay a gargoyle, a very small one with webbed wings and olive green skin.  
  
Lexington?  
  
The little gargoyle had been gutted like a fish. All the blood that covered the cathedral floor was flowing from his body, nearby lay the decapitated body of another gargoyle; it was enormous and had lavender skin.  
  
Goliath?  
  
Someone, or something, had twisted his head off. A few feet away from Goliath's body stood a pair of legs, there was nothing above the knees, and only the sword lying nearby gave away the identity of whoever had owned the legs.  
  
Hudson!  
  
  
  
Bronx, the Manhattan clan's "watch dog" had died near it's master, from the looks of it, his neck was broken. He noticed two more gargoyles, bound in chains and unconscious beside the altar, it was Goliath's daughter, Angela, and her mate Broadway. He looked around the pews for Goliath's second-in- command, he couldn't see him anywhere.  
  
  
  
"Looking for Brooklyn?"  
  
He spun around and saw Demona, a look of triumph on her face, over her shoulder hung Goliath's second-in-command, by the looks of it, she had broken his wings and then beaten him to within an inch of his life. She nodded towards him and slumped the half-dead gargoyle on the altar. She removed his loincloth and tossed it aside. He noticed that there were metal restraints on the altar; Demona clamped the restraints around Brooklyn's ankles, wrists and tail. She then took out a large wooden bowl from behind the altar; it was filled to the brim with blood.  
  
Lexington's blood. He realized in horror.  
  
Lexington's the blood sacrifice.and Brooklyn's the.  
  
Impossible, Demona couldn't know how to perform this, it wasn't possible, she didn't have the know how, she didn't have the book. As if sensing his thoughts, Demona looked him straight in the eyes and smiled, her taloned hand reached into a pouch on her belt and removed a small black leather bound book, it was slightly thicker than her wrist, it's title was in small golden letters, he didn't have to read them to know what it was.  
  
The Malus Codicium!  
  
"I told you, you can't keep it from me forever, I'd get it back eventually," she said triumphantly, she pointed to Brooklyn, "And now he shall pay for your foolishness!" She laughed cruelly, dipped two fingers into the bowl, and began to mark out runes with Lexington's lifeblood upon the red gargoyle.  
  
"NO!" he howled as he broke into a sprint for the altar, he had to stop this, he wouldn't, couldn't fail this time, the blood around his feet thickened, forcing him to struggle just to pull a foot out to take a another step, he looked up at the altar, Demona had finished marking out the necessary runes upon Brooklyn's stomach, chest and forehead. Suddenly, the red gargoyle let out a small moan, his eyes slowly opened and he began to look around him. He tried to move, realising he had been strapped to the altar, he began to struggle weakly, using what little remained of his strength to try and free himself, but he was too weak from the beating he had taken. Brooklyn looked over and saw him.  
  
"Ma.Macbeth.. please..help me."  
  
Macbeth, forced another step, he began checking himself for weapons, a gun, a knife, anything he could use to save the young gargoyle from one of the most horrible fates imaginable. Even he wouldn't wish this on Demona, and here she was doing it on one of her own clan! Demona had taken a two-foot long iron rod from her belt, it was covered in the same runes she had painted upon the young gargoyle in blood, she began taking hand-fulls of blood from the bowl and bathing the rod in it, until it was completely covered. She raised it above her head in both hands and began to chant.  
  
He hadn't much time. Demona had to summon it before she could contain it in Brooklyn's body, before his very soul was destroyed utterly. He found holster at his hip, it held a luger. He whipped it out and forced another few steps, he was a few feet from the altar now. He cocked the pistol and held it in both hands, aiming for a headshot on Demona, when he was sure he had her dead on, he whispered a prayer for accuracy, and pulled the trigger. He felt the familiar recoil of the gun as the bullet flew from the barrel and.  
  
.hit the wall behind her.  
  
Impossible!  
  
He couldn't miss, not at this distance. The rod began to glow white as Demona completed the summoning, she smiled triumphantly at Macbeth.  
  
"Looks like I win," she said, her eyes glowing a hellish red.  
  
"NO!" roared Macbeth, as emptied the entire clip on her, every shot should have been a kill shot, but they all missed, hitting off columns, smashing stained glass and slamming into the wall behind her. In total desperation, Macbeth hurled the now useless pistol at her, which missed as well. She laughed at his pathetic efforts.  
  
"You've lost Macbeth," said Demona, she looked down at Brooklyn, he was shaking in terror, tears were rolling down his eyes as he tried desperately to break his bonds, he cast a last, desperate look at Macbeth.  
  
"Macbeth! Please!"  
  
"In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast and forever into this host!"  
  
The light drifted down from Demona's rod as if it were smoke, when it came into contact with Brooklyn's chest, the young gargoyle went rigid, he threw his head back and screamed in agony and fear as his body suddenly went into violent spasms. His body was enveloped in white light and his screams were suddenly cut off. The metal bonds holding his body to the altar had melted. He sat up slowly and looked at Demona.  
  
"What is it you want mistrisssss?" it hissed. Demona smiled and looked at Macbeth.  
  
"End all human life," she answered, still looking at Macbeth, "As painfully as possible."  
  
"It will take time mistrissss."  
  
Demona smiled.  
  
"We have all the time on the world. Don't we Macbeth?"  
  
The daemon host that had once been Brooklyn turned it's head and looked Macbeth in the eyes. Macbeth shivered and felt tears start to form in his eyes, he had failed him, as he had failed so many others over the centuries, he saw no trace of his former foe turned ally in those eyes, all he saw was two bottomless pits of hate. Brooklyn's soul had been totally annihilated. He'd ceased to exist.  
  
The daemon host smiled cruelly at him as it raised a hand, a ball of white energy began to form in it's palm. It laughed as it hurled the energy ball at him.  
  
The white ball of light and heat hurtled towards him, the light was blinding and the heat was unbearable. It crashed into him. He wailed in agony as he felt his skin melt, he could smell his own flesh burning. He heard a voice far off call his name, again and again and again. He felt someone grab him from behind and violently spin his burning body around; he felt an open hand strike him across the face.  
  
"Awaken!"  
  
Macbeth's eyes shot open and he looked around himself. He felt a hand gently take hold of his shoulder.  
  
"Are you all right Master?" He turned his head and saw Jezebel Tibbs, his dear friend and servant. The old woman was out of breath, her shotgun dangled from her right hand, he looked past her at the door to his room, she'd shot the lock out to get to him, but why?  
  
"I heard gunshots," she replied when he asked, "Apparently you've been practising in your sleep." She pointed to the foot of his bed; the oak panelled walls had bullet holes in them, while the luger he kept under his pillow was lying several feet away.  
  
"What happened?" asked Macbeth, clearly a little confused.  
  
"From what I saw I'd saw you were having a prophetic dream."  
  
"You saw it?"  
  
"Saw it! Who do you think it was who slapped you out of it?" replied Jezebel.  
  
"What do you think it means?"  
  
"It's meaning is pretty obvious you know."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
"You must destroy the Codicium."  
  
"I've tried that already! I can't get near the damn thing! It reads my thoughts! It knows the second I go near it what I plan to do to it and it forces me away!"  
  
Jezebel sighed.  
  
"I can't get near it either."  
  
"Then what am I supposed to do? How long do you think we have before this happens?"  
  
Jezebel considered this for a moment.  
  
"Goliath's clan didn't look much older than they do now," she said eventually, "that means it could occur in a few weeks, months, or even a year or so." "Weeks! How the devil could Demona locate the Codicium in a few weeks time?"  
  
Jezebel shrugged.  
  
"Perhaps it's not quite as unique as we had hoped."  
  
Macbeth stared at the wall as he let that chilling thought sink in.  
  
"Another Codicium? God help us!"  
  
"What should we do master?"  
  
"I can't let her get hold of that book again, be it mine or a." he shivered, ".or a copy of it."  
  
"Then what are you going to do?"  
  
Macbeth closed his hand into fists in determination, his face hardened.  
  
"I'm going to finish this once and for all."  
  
"What do you mean once and for all?" asked Jezebel, worry in her voice.  
  
"I am going to kill Demona."  
  
To be continued.  
  
Well what do ya think so far? If anyone out there has an opinion of this or any future part of the saga then by all means e-mail me.  
  
The next part should be finished in a few days time.  
  
See ya then! 


	2. Recruitment Part 1

Recruitment Part 1  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
A skyscraper roof  
  
He was alone now, completely and utterly alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of light, noise and concrete that was Manhattan Island and sighed mournfully.  
  
Angela was pregnant.  
  
She and Broadway had officially been mates for two years now; he'd been courting her for over a year and a half before he'd finally worked up the courage to ask her. He'd proposed to her right in front of the entire clan and she had readily accepted, to the cheers of everyone.  
  
Except him.  
  
It's true he'd been expecting it for ages, but it still hurt like a dagger to his heart when she screamed "YES!" and embraced him hungrily. He had patted Broadway on the back and wished them both many years of happiness together, before disappearing off to cry his eyes out.  
  
He was on the roof of a skyscraper that had a perfect frontal view of the castle; set a top the tallest building on Earth, in it there was a party going on.  
  
He had decided to leave as soon as he could. He sighed again.  
  
-I've lost Angela forever. I've lost Broadway forever.-  
  
He sat down, leaned against the wall from which he'd been looking over and pulled his knees against his chest.  
  
-I've lost Lexington forever.-  
  
Alexander was now over four years old, he could walk, he could talk, and Lexington fawned over him as if he were his own child. He spent every waking minute with the Xanatoses' kid; he had no time for him anymore. He didn't hate Alex for that, it wasn't his fault he was an adorable kid that absolutely everybody loved, it was just.  
  
"I have no one," he mumbled to himself.  
  
-It's not fair! How come absolutely everyone around me has somebody while I'm forever alone?-  
  
His track record with the fairer sex was definitely not impressive. Maggie hated him; Angela had chosen someone else over him, while Demona.  
  
His eyes flared up at the thought of that treacherous viper. She was another reason he'd left as quickly as possible. Angela had called her to tell her she was pregnant and had invited her over without telling the rest of the clan! Worst of all she'd accepted! He had to restrain himself from grabbing a sword off the wall and cutting her head off when she'd first arrived. Goliath, who had been quite shocked at this, gave Angela a "We'll talk about this later" look before acting with great courtesy towards their unexpected guest.  
  
She'd asked him where he thought he was going, she'd probably been waiting to pounce on him, waiting for the right moment to put him on the spotlight, the atmosphere had gone tense for a few seconds in the main hall, everyone knew he hated her with a vengence.  
  
He smiled at himself. He wouldn't play Demona's game; he had politely excused himself, saying he needed some air. He looked up at the dark clouds above his head, it would be raining in a couple of hours, by the looks of the clouds, there'd be thunder and lightning as well. At least in the storm, he could mope without anyone hearing him.  
  
He smiled sadly.  
  
-I'm so pathetic it's not even funny.-  
  
  
  
  
  
The Labyrinth  
  
-I'm in deep shit now.-  
  
He pressed himself tight against the column as very angry voices grew steadily closer. He looked down the tunnel, at the only way out of this hellhole.  
  
-God.if you really exist, then please let me make it.-  
  
He made a bolt for the exit of the Labyrinth, a good thirty meters away.  
  
They spotted him making a mad dash for the exit and gave chase.  
  
He could hear very mad swearing behind him, along with graphic promises of what they intended to do to him when they caught up with him. But he was a fast runner.  
  
He had to be down here.  
  
He reached the outside, ran up the side of a hill and clawed his way up the wall of the first building he saw. They were calling his name now, but they were much farther off.  
  
"Malibu!"  
  
His body made painful protests at the sudden abundance of exercise it had to deal with. He ignored it. He wouldn't rest until he was in the air, and far away from his pursuers.  
  
He reached the top of the building, it was three storeys tall.  
  
-Please let it be tall enough!-  
  
He ran to the end of the roof as fast as he could, trying to build up momentum.  
  
-Oh Please! Oh Please! Oh Please! Oh Please!-  
  
He spread his wings as he leapt over small wall surrounding the roof; all the while praying to a God he wasn't even sure existed for escape. His wings caught a small updraft and he soared.  
  
"YES!" he yelled in triumph, it had been such a long time since he'd been allowed out, he was afraid that he had forgotten how to do it.  
  
-Like riding a bicycle.I think.-  
  
It felt so good to have the wind in his face again, to have it flow through his long white hair. He took a deep breath of the free air  
  
-Never again,- he vowed.  
  
-Never, ever again.-  
  
He soared over the immense city, marvelling at the sheer scale of the buildings all around him. Suddenly, he felt very small. He needed a rest, somewhere where he could think out his next move from here on. He looked around him and saw the immense skyscraper that Goliath's clan resided in.  
  
-That's a definite no no! I know all about their feelings towards us "forgeries."-  
  
He picked a building close by and glided towards it.  
  
  
  
The most depressing skyscraper roof on earth  
  
Brooklyn sat huddled against the concrete roof shed, wallowing in total self pity at the fact he was totally alone. His ears pricked up on a faint sound on the wind, he stood up cautiously.  
  
-What the Hell's that noise?-  
  
"obuggerbuggerhelpaarghnoNoNoAarghBuggerNONOAAAWWCRAP!"  
  
A light-green coloured blur raced over him, over-shooting the roof and going far too fast. It seemed vaguely familiar.  
  
"Malibu?"  
  
Brooklyn ran quickly over to the edge of the roof and peered over the wall. It was Malibu, his clone, and it looked he had been trying to land on this roof and had come in far too fast, now he was heading straight into the side of a building. His gargoyle instincts taking over from the general feeling of creepiness that seemed to follow his clone around, Brooklyn leapt off the building and made a mad dive to try and stop his clone from splattering against a skyscraper wall sixty yards away.  
  
Malibu had started to slow down just a little, allowing Brooklyn to quickly reduce the gap between them. He reached out and got a firm grip on his flailing arms and began to pull up.  
  
"Brooklyn?" said Malibu, after he got over the initial shock of having the gargoyle he was cloned from come out of nowhere to save him from a very painful appointment with the side of a building.  
  
"Yep?"  
  
"Um.ah.why are you helping me? I thought you hated us clones?"  
  
"Gargoyles protect, and I don't actually hate you.I just don't feel all that comfortable being near."  
  
"A forgery?"  
  
"I wasn't going to say that."  
  
"Then what were you going to say?"  
  
"Ah.how about we land somewhere and finish this conversation then, your kinda heavy."  
  
Brooklyn landed on them on a nearby skyscraper roof. They sat down beside each other on a helicopter-landing pad. For a few awkward moments, they remained silent; eventually Brooklyn spoke up.  
  
"So.I.ah.haven't seen you in a few years. What ya been doing with yourself?"  
  
"Nothing much. I been stuck in the Labyrinth for most of the time."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"That's why I kinda suck at this gliding thing. I haven't been in the air for almost three years. Bicycle my ass."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Nothing. You look depressed."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said you looked depressed. Something wrong?"  
  
"I don't think you'd understand."  
  
"Try me."  
  
Brooklyn looked at the clone suspiciously. Malibu smiled back pleasantly.  
  
-He seems genuine enough.-  
  
"Oh what the Hell?"  
  
Brooklyn told him everything, his heart break when Angela chose Broadway over him, how it got worse when Lexington started spending all his time with Alex, finding out that Angela was pregnant, how he couldn't stay there any longer when he found out Angela had invited Demona. Malibu listened intently through the entire thing, when Brooklyn was finished his tale of woe, Malibu did something very unexpected. He burst out laughing.  
  
At first, Brooklyn was understandably a little annoyed at having his troubles laughed at, but the laughter was infectious. After several minutes, they were both laughing hysterically. When they had eventually calmed down, Brooklyn looked over at Malibu, suddenly, things didn't seem all that bad, he had someone who was willing to listen to him. Malibu looked back at him and smiled again.  
  
"Feeling better?" he asked.  
  
"Much. Thanks for listening. So, what are you doing out the Labyrinth?" The smile on Malibu's face vanished.  
  
"I hate it down there."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Of course I do! Wouldn't you?"  
  
"I guess so. Why don't you guys go out then?"  
  
"Talon doesn't allow us," said Malibu bitterly.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"He thinks we'll hurt ourselves or do something stupid that'll be blamed on you guys."  
  
"You don't like him?"  
  
"It's not that," replied Malibu hurriedly, "If it wasn't for him, we'd never have learned to think for ourselves, but he treats us like children. He's so stubborn about some things that he drives me crazy. He's got one Hell of a temper to boot."  
  
"That sounds very familiar," laughed Brooklyn.  
  
"That's not the worst."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Maggie and my brothers and sister."  
  
Brooklyn's eyes widened in shock at this, "How so?"  
  
"For the past three months Delilah and the others have been teasing and beating me, I told Maggie, but she turned a blind eye to it."  
  
"That's terrible! But why?"  
  
Malibu looked over at Brooklyn, "Its because I look like you."  
  
"WHAT!" yelled Brooklyn, his eyes flaring.  
  
"No offence Brooklyn but she doesn't like you that much."  
  
"She doesn't?" said Brooklyn, getting a very familiar feeling in his heart.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"It's okay," sighed Brooklyn, "I'm used to rejection. So what did you do about it."  
  
"Something very stupid."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, Talon, Maggie and Claw are away to that party you walked out of," started Malibu, "Which meant that this was the best chance I'd have for escape."  
  
"I see, go on."  
  
"Well, Delilah saw me sneaking out and started the alarm before trying to beat the crap out of me."  
  
"What did you do then?"  
  
"I broke a baseball bat over her head."  
  
"You killed her?!!!"  
  
"No no no, I didn't kill her, the bat was old and worn while she has a very thick skull."  
  
"You sure you didn't kill her?"  
  
"Positive, she was still breathing when some of the humans who live down there came in and saw me standing over her with a broken bat. That's when I ran for it."  
  
"Okay. So what do you plan on doing now?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure."  
  
"Your not sure?"  
  
"Hey cut me some slack!" said Malibu, getting angry, "I saw an opportunity and I took it! I was planning to think out the next part after I got out of that shit-hole! Do you think I'm some sort of idiot?"  
  
"Calm down," said Brooklyn reassuringly, "I wasn't going to call you anything. You can always stay with us."  
  
"No thanks," said Malibu, "I appreciate the gesture but I don't think your clan may be to thrilled about the prospect of having a clone stay with them. Besides, the second Talon found out where I was, he'd whip my ass and drag me back down to the Labyrinth."  
  
Brooklyn sat and thought for a few moments while Malibu fumbled in a pouch on his belt, after a moment, he produced a packet of cigarettes and a battered old lighter, he took one out and then offered one to Brooklyn. Brooklyn hesitated, but only for a moment, taking a cigarette out, he let Malibu light it. He took a deep suck, and almost coughed his guts out.  
  
"Goliath must keep you on a tight lease," laughed the clone.  
  
"You have no idea," replied the red gargoyle, taking another drag, trying to accustom himself to the smoke. They stayed silent for several moments, Malibu enjoying his smoke, while Brooklyn continued coughing severely.  
  
"Where'd you pick this habit up from anyway?" coughed Brooklyn.  
  
"Fang."  
  
"Fang!" sputtered Brooklyn, shocked.  
  
"Yeah, he's not as bad you might think."  
  
"We're talking about the same Fang here aren't we?"  
  
"He's changed quite a lot since you last seen him," explained Malibu, "He was the only person I could talk to."  
  
"He was friendly enough towards you?"  
  
"Sure, we used to spend hours talking whenever I had to guard him. And I always used to go with him whenever he was allowed to go out for exercise."  
  
Malibu sighed, "I should have helped him escape with me."  
  
"You know," started Brooklyn, "If you're planning to go anywhere, you might need to know how land without killing yourself."  
  
"You offering to help?"  
  
"Sure why not? And after it all comes back to you, me and you could try and find you a place to crash."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No problem, now take my lead."  
  
Brooklyn spent half an hour helping Malibu master the finer points of slowing down in mid-air and landing on his feet. After that, the pair let the coastal winds carry them farther inland while overhead, a storm was brewing.  
  
The pair spent the next few hours gliding over the city; eventually they passed the city limits. They were over a very large country estate and were about to turn back when the rain began to fall; they were forced to land in a small clump of woods.  
  
"That place looks familiar," said Brooklyn. He and Malibu were hiding under a tall tree while the rain poured heavily around them. They had a good view of the castle that dominated a small hill through the trees; it was roughly half a mile away. Realisation dawned on him. "That's Macbeth's castle!"  
  
"Friend of yours?"  
  
"Well, we did kinda burn his house down a few times."  
  
"That would be a no then."  
  
"Not really, he used to be a bad guy, but he's different now."  
  
"Like Fang?"  
  
"I'll believe he's changed when I see it myself."  
  
"Do you think he'd give us shelter until the storm's over?"  
  
"I don't know," said Brooklyn, a little uncertain, "I'd prefer not to bother him."  
  
Just then, there was a flash of lightning, followed by a mighty crack of thunder. Both gargoyles looked at each other briefly and then made a mad dash for the edge of the woods at breakneck speed. When they were nearly at the edge, a bolt of fork lightning flew from the sky and struck a tree a little over ten meters from them. The tree, for lack of a better word, blew up, filling the surrounding area with sharp splinters. A particularly large piece cut through the air and planted itself into Malibu's right shoulder, another pierced his hand while a third planted itself in his right leg, just above the ankle, the light-green gargoyle howled in agony and fell to the ground.  
  
"Mal! Mal!" yelled Brooklyn as he rushed to help his friend. He knelt down beside him, checking his wounds.  
  
"It hurts," said the clone weakly.  
  
"We're gonna have to get those out," said Brooklyn, taking hold of Malibu's right wrist, "This is gonna hurt." The clone nodded and gritted his teeth. Brooklyn pulled the splinter in the back of his friend's hand out in a sudden, powerful jerk, the clone screamed and blacked out from the pain. Brooklyn was relieved at that, it meant Mal wouldn't feel the next two splinters being removed. After that unpleasant business was over, Brooklyn awkwardly picked his clone up, propping him over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. He looked up at Macbeth's castle; it seemed a lot farther away now. "I hope he likes unexpected guests," said the red gargoyle under his breath as he set out for the building as quickly as he could.  
  
Inside Macbeth's Castle  
  
Jezebel Tibbs scrolled through another museum website, stopping suddenly when she noticed an exhibit that looked familiar.  
  
"Sir!" she yelled, "I found something!"  
  
"Is it a Codicium?" replied Macbeth, rising from his table, which was littered with parchments containing any known reference to another copy of the Malus Codicium, along with a small tome of lesser magic he was planning to use against it.  
  
"Something almost as good," replied Jezebel, pointing to the screen. Macbeth looked at where his old friend was pointing at the screen, his eyes widened. Shown was an iron rod, two feet in length, one inch in diameter, it was totally covered in runes that looked all too familiar to the immortal.  
  
"It's called the 'Rod of Control," explained Jezebel, "It was supposedly created by a warlock by the name of Heldane after Lucifer himself told him how to make it, he was found by the Inquisition supposedly a week after he finished it's construction and burned as an Arch Heretic."  
  
"And the rod?"  
  
"He hid it along with an explanation of what it was, who gave him the instructions to create it, and it's purpose."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"To be used in conjunction with a tome of demology and magic which was penned by Lucifer himself."  
  
"The Malus Codicium."  
  
"It gets better, there were supposedly three copies written."  
  
"Three!"  
  
"Not to worry, Heldane had one and it burned along with him."  
  
"And the other two?"  
  
"No information is available the other two, though one's obviously the one in the storage chamber downstairs. I have no idea where the other could be located at the minute."  
  
"Damn!"  
  
"How's your search progressing sir?"  
  
"No luck at all Jezebel. Where's the rod located?"  
  
"At a museum in Vienna."  
  
Macbeth slumped back down in his chair and yawned, "If we can't locate the second Codicium, then I'm going to pay a visit to Vienna and destroy the rod."  
  
"If I may sir, it's quite late, we should get some sleep and continue this in the morning," said Jezebel rising from her chair and stretching.  
  
"Very well old friend," replied the immortal, rising as well and heading to his bedchamber. Suddenly, there was a massive banging at the door. Jezebel and Macbeth stared at each other for a moment, before carrying out a well practiced drill, Jezebel wrenching her shotgun from her thick woollen coat which had been hanging off the back of her chair, while Macbeth produced a pair of .5 calibre Desert Eagle pistols from his coat. Proceeding with caution down the stairs, the two kept the door covered at all times during their descent. Upon reaching the huge oak door, which was being banged again, Macbeth sheathed a pistol and moved to open one of the pair of huge oak doors while Jezebel kept it covered with her pump-action. With a mighty pull, Macbeth threw the door open and aimed his pistol at.  
  
"Brooklyn?"  
  
The red gargoyle was standing out in the rain, another gargoyle of a light green complexion slumped over his shoulders, they had been both completely drenched, Brooklyn was shaking from exhaustion and the cold while the gargoyle on his shoulders appeared to be bleeding from several places.  
  
"Macbeth, please help us," said the red gargoyle, falling to his knees, his charge still on his shoulders.  
  
Macbeth and Jezebel caste their weapons aside and took the green gargoyle (which looked strangely like Brooklyn) off Brooklyn's shoulders, Macbeth carrying him over his shoulder, while Jezebel helped the red gargoyle to stand, letting him lean on her for support as they went inside.  
  
An Hour later  
  
Macbeth came into the living room, Brooklyn was sitting on an oriental rug, right beside the fire, he had several heavy blankets wrapped around him but he was still shivering. He went over to a table and drinks cabinet on the other side of the room; he poured the young gargoyle a large glass of brandy and, remembering his beak, put a straw in it.  
  
"Here, drink this," said Macbeth as he sat down in front of Brooklyn.  
  
"Thank you," said the gargoyle, taking the glass and emptying it. He stopped shivering and sat the glass on the floor. "How is he?"  
  
"Jezebel's looking after Malibu, she's handled worse than his injuries, he'll be fine."  
  
Brooklyn seemed greatly relieved at that, "I can't thank you enough Macbeth, I'm in your debt."  
  
"Nonsense," said Macbeth, waving his hand dismissivly, "I always help my friends when they're in need."  
  
"Thank you all the same."  
  
"Are you two family?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I can't help but notice a slight resemblance between the pair of you."  
  
Brooklyn explained how Demona and Thailog had cloned Malibu from him, along with the rest of the clan, but then Thailog had created Delilah to replace Demona, how they all got in a huge fight, which left the clones with Talon at the end. Macbeth listened closely, when Brooklyn was finished, Macbeth asked him how they both came to be in his estate and why they were so far from the city. Brooklyn explained how Angela had invited Demona, insisting she had changed, to a party celebrating her pregnancy, how he'd left in disgust and ran into his clone fleeing the Labyrinth, he even told him what he'd done there and why.  
  
Macbeth smiled, satisfied at the explanation, "You don't think Demona can change then?"  
  
"I know she can't, all this is just an act to get close to the clan."  
  
"I'd be inclined to agree," said Macbeth, his memory flashing back to the dream he had the previous night. He shivered at what may be his young friend's fate if he didn't stop it. He looked into Brooklyn's hazel eyes. There was a lot of anger in them, he was undoubtedly very paranoid about Demona's motives, but he could be a great deal of help to his cause.  
  
-The enemy of my enemy, is my friend.-  
  
"If I was to tell you I was aware of what Demona was planning, and that I intended to stop her once and for all, what would you say?"  
  
"Can I be of any assistance?" replied the gargoyle, smiling.  
  
"No one else knows you two are here?"  
  
"No one."  
  
"Then let me explain what I know."  
  
Macbeth told Brooklyn of the Malus Codicium, the "Rod of Control" And of the prophetic dream he'd had. Brooklyn was shocked at what he described, especially at his fate and that of the clan.  
  
"I don't understand," asked the gargoyle after Macbeth was finished, "How could she believe Angela would stay with her after what she'd done to us?"  
  
"The Codicium warps the minds of those who use it excessively," explained Macbeth patiently, "It also contains many powerful spells, including mind altering ones, she would probably make Angela and Broadway think just like her, or just wipe your clan from their memories."  
  
"How can a book warp someone's mind?"  
  
"It's alive."  
  
Brooklyn's eyes widened in shock at that, "Alive?"  
  
"It's very hard to explain, will you help me?"  
  
"If the clan finds out I'm involved, they'll kill me," replied the Brooklyn sadly, "I'm sorry."  
  
Macbeth thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up, "I have a tome of lesser magic," he said quickly, "One of it's properties is the power of transformation, if I can guarantee you that the clan will never know its you who's helping me, will you help then?"  
  
The red gargoyle met Macbeth's hopeful stare, and smiled darkly, "I'd follow you into Hell then if it would help destroy her."  
  
"Then it's a deal," said Macbeth happily, shaking Brooklyn's hand, "I just hope that Hell bit's not necessary."  
  
Macbeth rose to his feet, Brooklyn rose aswell, just then Jezebel came in.  
  
"Jezebel, this is Brooklyn Wyvern, he's agreed to help us against Demona," said Macbeth happily as he went to get them all drinks to celebrate. Jezebel went over and shook Brooklyn's hand as Macbeth poured three glasses of wine.  
  
"How's Malibu?"  
  
"Oh he'll be just fine," said Jezebel reassuringly, "He just needs some sleep, which I'm sure he'll get plenty of when the sun rises."  
  
"Thank you miss Tibbs."  
  
"Oh please, call me Jezebel."  
  
"What about Malibu," said Macbeth, giving Jezebel and Brooklyn their glasses, remembering to put a straw in Brooklyn's.  
  
"There's no love loss between him and Demona," replied Brooklyn, "He was made to be a mindless slave to her and Thailog after all."  
  
"Then he'll help aswell?" asked Jezebel  
  
"If Macbeth explains things to him as he did for me then I've no doubt he will."  
  
"Then let us toast," said Macbeth, raising his glass.  
  
"What shall we toast to?" asked Jezebel.  
  
" To the final destruction of a plague upon all of us," replied Brooklyn, raising his own glass.  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"That's good enough for me."  
  
With that the three hunters to be drank to their success while the storm outside reached its peak.  
  
Meanwhile, beneath the castle, behind a false wall, thirteen titanium doors, all with state of the art locking systems and codes, behind a laser- shield and an iron safe within a vacuum sealed room, something of immense power and evil smiled triumphantly to itself.  
  
"And so it finally begins."  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
So what do you think so far? If anyone has any opinions (or questions) about the series so far then you know my e-mail address. I'll even accept flames, as long as they are decent, with intelligent arguments.  
  
Until next time.  
  
Darkness. 


	3. Recruitment Part 2

Recruitment Part 2  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending@yahoo.co.uk Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
The Macbeth Estate  
  
The sun slowly set over the horizon, enveloping the enormous estate in darkness. Inside a particular room in the immense castle, which dominated the landscape, there were two statues, totally identical, each having a beak, horns, wings and long flowing hair, the only differences between them were the positions that they took. One sat on a chair with a concerned expression on it's face, while the second lay on a bed with blankets pulled over it, it looked asleep, there were bandages wrapped over it's right shoulder and right hand. A door near the foot of the bed opened, and two figures walked in, a man and a woman.  
  
The woman was in her late sixties; she had a kind face and neat white hair. She wore a white blouse with dainty frills, a long black cotton skirt and a long red woollen coat, which fell to her ankles and was probably home made; her feet resided in a pair of sensible black shoes.  
  
The man had a noble air of authority about him; he appeared to be in his late fifties, having grey hair and a short, neat beard. He wore a pair of blue jeans, brown boots and a red turtleneck jumper.  
  
"I've never had the pleasure of witnessing this before," said the woman, clearly fascinated by the two gargoyle statues.  
  
"It's much better than watching them turn to stone Jezebel," replied the man, with a mild Scottish accent, "Although I must say, it's very loud and often messy."  
  
A brush was suddenly in the woman's hand, "I'm ready."  
  
"I do wish you'd stop doing that."  
  
"Old habit sir, sorry."  
  
As the old lady spoke, the last rays of the sun faded from the horizon. The two statues' skin began to crack and break, all of a sudden; the statues began to move, in a sudden movement, the air was filled with flying bits of masonry, accompanying this movement were two terrifying, inhuman roars, the two humans appeared unphased by this, the woman was visibly fascinated, while the man appeared to be more worried about a nearby window, which was shuddering from the deafening roars, as if to confirm his fears, the pane cracked.  
  
"Damn," he said under his breath. He looked over at his two gargoyle guests and smiled, they'd stopped roaring now.  
  
It now became obvious that there were differences between the two gargoyles, the one who had occupied the chair had blood red skin and hazel eyes, while the one who had been resting in the bed had light green skin, while his eyes were a shade of light grey, other than that, they were totally identical, white hair and all.  
  
"How you feeling Mal?" asked Brooklyn, walking over to his clone.  
  
"Better," replied Malibu, stretching, before getting out of the bed. He looked over at the man and woman and grinned sheepishly. "Hi, I'm Malibu."  
  
"Hello," said Jezebel, offering her hand, the gargoyle took it. "I am Jezebel Tibbs," she then motioned towards the man, "And this is my master, Macbeth."  
  
"Thank you for helping us," said Malibu.  
  
"Always willing to help any of Brooklyn's friends," replied Macbeth, taking Malibu's outstretched hand.  
  
"Okay the three of you!" snapped Jezebel, "Get going, dinner's prepared for the three of you. Go on now and let me clean up this mess," she said pleasantly as she shooed them all out of the room so she could get on with the housework.  
  
"She's a gem that one," explained Macbeth as he led his guests to the dining room, "I don't need a huge staff to keep this place, just Jezebel."  
  
"She seems very. dedicated," replied Malibu carefully, trying to get the feeling out of his head that there was something not exactly right about her.  
  
"She's a witch you see."  
  
"A WITCH!"  
  
Both gargoyles stopped dead and looked back to door they had just come out of. Macbeth noticed their alarm and smiled to himself.  
  
"Relax, both of you, she's totally harmless, she looks after the estate for me while I deal with. other matters."  
  
They entered the dining room, where a huge feast lay before them on the table. Brooklyn and Malibu both eyed the food hungrily, their mouths watering.  
  
"Go on lads, dig in, I don't want to be accused of being a poor host!"  
  
  
  
Roughly an hour later  
  
Malibu leaned back against an extremely large couch, although his tail and wings made it a bit of a challenge to get comfortable, he achieved it eventually and sighed contently to himself. Never, in his entire life had he ever eaten so well, he felt a pang of guilt when he remembered what those down in the Labyrinth had to eat. He shuddered. One of the regular meals in the Labyrinth had fur, a tail and scurried about under Manhattan in very large numbers.  
  
Brooklyn stood near the fire, attempting to smoke a cigar that Macbeth had offered him, he was currently doubled over coughing from the fact the only time he had ever smoked in his life before hand had been the previous night, and that had been a small, cheap cigarette, not a six inch long Cuban cigar.  
  
"I'm starting to understand why these are illegal over hear," said Brooklyn, between splutters and coughs. Malibu burst out laughing.  
  
"I did try to warn you! But NOOO, you had to try and act like a big shot! You'll probably be coughing your guts out in a few minutes!"  
  
Brooklyn tried to give him a dirty look, but was interrupted by his lungs trying to expel the large amount of tar that had suddenly invaded their territory. He simply bent over and started coughing again.  
  
"Maybe I should take that off you before you kill yourself," laughed Macbeth, striding over to the doubled up red gargoyle. Brooklyn gratefully handed him the cigar, and watched in amazement as Macbeth took a very long drag from it, followed by blowing a smoke ring across the room.  
  
"It's an acquired taste," said Macbeth, blowing another, "And skill." Macbeth motioned for Brooklyn to sit. Brooklyn sat on the floor, near to the fire, while Malibu remained lying lazily on the couch.  
  
"And now gentlemen, if we may get down to some business."  
  
Malibu eyed Macbeth suspiciously as he sat on a chair opposite the couch Malibu lay on. Macbeth met his gaze head on.  
  
"Malibu, what are your feelings towards Demona?"  
  
Malibu's eyes narrowed at the mention of that name, "I would like to slit her throat."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"She's evil."  
  
"How do you know she's evil?"  
  
"She keeps trying to kill the human race."  
  
"Any other reason?"  
  
"She and Thailog created my clan to help destroy Brooklyn's clan and to act like mindless slaves for them, which doesn't exactly come across as being very nice."  
  
Macbeth casually looked over at Brooklyn, who gave him an "I told you so" smile. Macbeth then returned his attention to the clone.  
  
"I am planning to move against Demona," he began, "You see, it has come to my attention that she may be looking for a certain book called the Malus Codicium, and has infiltrated the Manhattan clan to see if David Xanatos has it in his possession."  
  
At the last part, Macbeth looked over at Brooklyn and gave him an unusual look, Brooklyn simply shrugged.  
  
"Why else would she be trying to get close to the clan other than to steal a powerful magical artifact?" said the red gargoyle.  
  
Macbeth nodded his head carefully and continued, "The Codicium is an extremely dangerous book of Black Magic, Demologly and Necromancy. It was supposedly penned by Lucifer himself in an attempt to have mankind destroy itself by using the power within the book's pages."  
  
"Okay," replied Malibu, "And what has any of this got to do with me?"  
  
"We were kinda hoping that you'd help," said Brooklyn.  
  
"We?"  
  
"Yes, I've already promised Macbeth that I'd help him."  
  
"What about your clan?"  
  
"They've all been poisoned by her deception, besides, Macbeth says he has a tome of lesser magic that will make sure that the clan never find out that I was involved."  
  
Malibu turned to Macbeth, suddenly very interested, "Do you?"  
  
"Yes," stated the immortal, "I take it that you'd be interested in it as well?"  
  
Malibu looked at the ceiling, his thoughts racing. Everyone kept telling him that revenge was wrong, it never got you anywhere and made you just as bad as those whom you sought revenge against. From his own experience, those who spoke out against revenge (Talon for example) were those who could never achieve it (or just didn't have the guts to) and they knew it. He on the other hand, he knew what revenge was like, he'd already tasted the cold dish that is revenge, and not only did he think it tasted sweet, he was hoping to have seconds. He thought of Delilah lying sprawled before him, unconscious, if those humans hadn't have interrupted when they did, he would have let her know what it felt like to be abused. He smiled. Chances are, he would have raped the bitch.  
  
"What will happen if she acquires this Codicium?"  
  
"She will use it's powers to wipe out mankind," replied Macbeth.  
  
Malibu plunged back into his thoughts. Here and now, he was being offered a chance to get back at one of his sick creators, Demona, the gargess who would have been happy if he had remained her mindless slave all his life. He licked his lips as he had an idea.  
  
"Very well Macbeth, I'll help you destroy Demona."  
  
"Excellent!" declared Macbeth, clapping his hands together and rising. Brooklyn also looked very pleased.  
  
"On one condition."  
  
The smile on Brooklyn's face was suddenly replaced by a look of alarm while Macbeth remained impassive.  
  
"And what would the condition be my friend?"  
  
"I have a good friend in the Labyrinth who is currently being held prisoner there."  
  
"Hold on a second," interrupted Brooklyn, quickly on his feet, "You don't mean Fang do you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You can't be serious!"  
  
"Who is Fang?" asked Macbeth, suddenly on unfamiliar territory.  
  
"My only real friend in the entire Labyrinth."  
  
"He's a scumbag!"  
  
"How would you know!" yelled Malibu, now standing as well, "He helped me through that Hell that was supposed to be my new life down there! He was the only person I could ever turn to and confide in! He's changed Brooklyn! Help me to free him and I'll prove it to you!"  
  
Brooklyn turned to Macbeth, "He's one of the mutates. He tried to lead a coup against Talon. I stopped him."  
  
"Do you think we can trust him?"  
  
Brooklyn looked over at Malibu, into his determined grey eyes. He sighed, defeated.  
  
"If Mal thinks we can trust him then I guess we can."  
  
"Then we will plan a strategy immediately. My tome of lesser magic should be particularly useful for his rescue."  
  
"Thank you Macbeth," said Malibu, overjoyed that he had a chance to help his old friend, Macbeth smiled and he and the clone shook hands as Brooklyn shook his head silently.  
  
-We are going to get in sooo much trouble for this.-  
  
  
  
The Labyrinth: Two days later  
  
Fang lay on the bed in his cell, looking at the ceiling when Talon arrived.  
  
"Hey boss," said the cougar mutate mockingly, "Any luck finding your runaway?"  
  
The panther mutate growled at him, "This is all your fault Fang."  
  
"Really? How so?"  
  
"You polluted that kid's mind with your garbage."  
  
"Your right, I should never have told him to think for himself and stick up for himself, I can't get over how evil that was!"  
  
"Shut up!" roared Talon, now severely ticked off, "It's because of you he nearly killed Delilah!"  
  
"She and her lackeys were bullying him, she got what she deserved."  
  
"You've no proof of that!"  
  
"He told me."  
  
"Hah! He's just a kid looking for attention, like so many others down here! You screwed his head up."  
  
"Then why'd you keep sending him here to guard me?"  
  
"He kept volunteering."  
  
"Didn't that ever strike you as odd?"  
  
"WHERE IS HE?"  
  
"Even if I knew oh great leader I wouldn't tell you for the world."  
  
Talon growled threateningly, before turning to head to the door, before closing the fortified door, which led to Fang's glass containment cell, he stopped an looked around at him.  
  
"You're never leaving Fang," said Talon in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'll make sure you'll never corrupt anyone again." With that he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Fang laughed to himself before checking his watch, it was almost lunchtime, although he had his doubts that Talon would send him any after what happened with Malibu.  
  
He chuckled.  
  
He really did like the kid, they had gotten close over the past couple of years, he had helped Malibu to learn how to read, long before any of his fellow clones had, maybe that's why they didn't like him, he could out do them all easily. They used to spend hours talking whenever Mal was guarding him, he always went with him when he was allowed out for exercise, he had even turned Mal on to smoking (although was a little ashamed of himself for that one). He hoped Mal was all right wherever he was.  
  
The fortified door opened quickly and closed again, allowing three figures dressed in worn old clothing to enter, all were human, two appeared to be twins, each having long shocks of white hair, tied back into ponytails, both were about seventeen or eighteen years of age. The man accompanying them appeared to be in his mid or late fifties, he had grey hair and a beard; all three wore long, tattered and dirty trench coats.  
  
"Fang!" exclaimed one of the twins happily. He rushed to the glass wall and pressed his hands against the glass, while his fellow twin followed at a more restrained pace, his face showing that was obviously unhappy about something.  
  
"Do I know you kids?" asked Fang, getting up from his bed.  
  
"It's me Mal!" said the twin pressed against the glass. His brother had stopped several paces away, his arms folded, that displeased look still sitting on his face.  
  
Fang walked right up to the glass wall separating him from his visitors and looked the youth hard in the eyes. They were light grey and very familiar.  
  
"Mal?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"But how? It must only be a couple of hours since noon?"  
  
The youth winked at him slyly and pointed at the older man who was watching the fortified door.  
  
"It's magic," he said happily, producing a device from his trench coat and placing it against the glass containment wall, it stayed there while he began tapping buttons on a small control consul.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"I'm breaking you out, now stand back."  
  
Fang complied, taking several steps back from the glass wall. When Malibu was finished pressing buttons, he also stood back and covered his ears, as did the other two. Fang managed to cover his own ears before an ear- splitting sound shattered the glass wall, all the shards of it falling to the floor with none flying through the air to cause unhealthy lacerations. The instant the glass was shattered, the deafening sound stopped.  
  
"Pretty cool huh?" said Mal, picking up his toy and shoving it back into his pocket. Fang leapt over the shattered glass and gave the kid a bear hug; Mal squeezed back, happy to have finally repaid his friend.  
  
"We don't have time for this!" said the human who looked exactly like Mal, he had taken his trench coat off, revealing more tattered clothes, he also had a hat at hand, "Put these on so we can get the Hell outta here!"  
  
Fang cloaked his wings quickly, slipped the trench coat on, used the hat to cover his pointed ears and followed his rescuers out the door. The old man appeared to have a device in his hand, he pressed a button on it and there was a muffled explosion somewhere.  
  
"What the Hell was that?"  
  
"A small fire bomb I placed," replied Malibu, "Don't worry, I made sure nobody was any where near it."  
  
The four quickly headed towards the exit, totally ignored by the panicking population, they followed the women and children fleeing outside while the men ran to fight the small blaze.  
  
After reaching the exit, the four quickly made their way to a car with tinted glass windows parked two blocks away from the Labyrinth entrance, making sure no one spotted them or followed them. Malibu and Fang got in the back while the man and the other youth got in the front, the man started the car and took them from the scene as quickly as possible.  
  
"So how does it feel to be free Fang?" asked the man with grey hair, he had a mild Scottish accent.  
  
"It feels great," replied the mutate, lying back against his seat and slipping his hat off, "Who are you anyway?"  
  
"They call me Macbeth."  
  
"Well thanks for the save Macbeth," he turned to look at the youth sitting next to Macbeth, "And you are?"  
  
"Fang that's Brooklyn," said Mal.  
  
"Brooklyn! Why the Hell are you helping me escape the place you helped put me in?"  
  
Brooklyn turned in his seat to look at Fang, murder in his eyes, "Understand this right now Fang. The only reason I'm helped save you sorry ass is because Mal says you've changed and can be trusted to assist us."  
  
"Assist you in what exactly?"  
  
"We're gonna save the world," said Mal excitedly, "And get revenge against Demona at the same time."  
  
"Demona! I thought she changed?"  
  
"She hasn't," said Brooklyn, "Currently she's searching for a book called the Malus Codicium, a very powerful book of Dark Magic that's she'll use to wipe out humanity, that is if we don't kill her first."  
  
"Kill her!"  
  
"It's the only way we can make sure she doesn't get hold of the book," explained Macbeth, "So will you help us?"  
  
"What's in it for me?"  
  
"Two million dollars in cash and the spell I used to turn these two into human form," replied Macbeth, not even looking around to see Fang's astounded expression.  
  
"Two million?"  
  
"And a spell that will allow you to use it in public. So what's your answer?"  
  
"Count me in!" yelled Fang, any apprehension he had forgotten. Malibu cheered and hugged his friend while Macbeth continued driving to his estate, a great big smile on his face. Brooklyn on the other hand was not smiling; he was just staring out the window, an angry expression on his face, working with scum like Fang was very unappealing. His face brightened up however as he thought of how sweet his revenge against Demona would be, in his own opinion, he had waited far far too long before acting against her, but still, he was going to savour every moment of it, along with any screams.  
  
-Only a matter of time now.- He thought to himself.  
  
-Only a matter of time.-  
  
To be continued.  
  
So what do you think so far? If anyone has any opinions (or questions) about the series so far then you know my e-mail address. I'll even accept flames, as long as they are decent, with intelligent arguments.  
  
Until next time.  
  
Darkness. 


	4. Preparations

Preparations  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me  
  
  
  
The Labyrinth  
  
Talon strode among the people of the Labyrinth, the poor, the downtrodden and the sick and sighed wearily. It had taken almost an hour to put out the fire, he had breathed in an awful lot of smoke and he was coughing considerably because of it. He was exhausted; he felt he was going to be sick while his head felt like there was a jackhammer pounding at his brains inside.  
  
He needed to lie down before he collapsed.  
  
"Talon!"  
  
He looked up to see Maggie Reed, his wife for over two years run up to him; she was wearing a very frightened expression.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Fang's escaped!"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
He rushed past her; it couldn't be true, could it? He tapped in the code and hurled the fortified door open, which led to the glass chamber that contained the cougar mutate. Maggie had been right, the three inch thick glass wall that served as the front of his prison had been totally shattered. It suddenly hit Talon that Fang's escape and the fire were connected. Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble to get Fang out of his prison, but who? Or better yet, why? And why the Hell couldn't he get that nagging feeling at the back of his head that Malibu was connected in some way? Whoever did this knew the layout of the Labyrinth as they had started a fire, which would cause damage but not endanger life. They would also have to have known where Fang was imprisoned. They would have also have to know the code that opened the fortified door. Malibu knew all of this; he could easily have given the information to people who needed Fang.  
  
"But for what?" he said to himself.  
  
"Derek. What are we going to do?"  
  
Talon looked over at Maggie, she had followed him inside.  
  
"We're going to have to contact Goliath and his clan," was the answer, "Whoever got Fang out was a professional, they obviously needed him for some reason. What for, I don't know just yet but I'm sure Malibu's connected somehow. Whatever's going down I think we might need Goliath's clan to help. I'll leave for the Eyrie building half an hour before sunset, in the meantime I have got to get some rest before I collapse."  
  
With that, Talon staggered to his bed to try and get some well earned shut- eye while Maggie began questioning people to see if they saw anyone suspicious looking around before the fire started.  
  
  
  
The Eyrie Building, several hours later  
  
The Gargoyles of the clan Manhattan awoke with their usual roars, as they broke free of their stone skin as the final rays of the sun vanished below the horizon.  
  
Angela looked over at the perch to her father's right. It had been unoccupied now ever since she had invited her mother to a party celebrating her pregnancy. Brooklyn had walked out almost as soon as Demona had arrived, having first given her a look with murder in his eyes for several seconds before saying he needed some air. She had felt awful afterwards, she knew she should have asked the clan's permission first to see if she could invite her mother, but she was convinced that Demona was changing, all she had to do was show it to the others so that they'd understand. Her mother was no longer trying to destroy humanity; instead she was determined to have a meaningful relationship with her daughter. Angela was sure that Goliath and the others would eventually forgive her mother; the only member she wasn't sure about was Brooklyn. In truth, she had invited Demona for two reasons, to celebrate her pregnancy, and to try and have Brooklyn and her patch things up.  
  
She sighed miserably at her failure.  
  
Just then she felt a hand gently fall on her shoulder, she looked around to see her husband, Broadway smiling lovingly at her.  
  
"Don't worry darling," said the huge aquamarine gargoyle, "He used to do this a lot, he just needs a few days to himself, then he'll be back and everything will go back to normal."  
  
"You think so?"  
  
"I know so."  
  
"Do you think he'll ever forgive my mother?"  
  
The smile and certainty on her husband's face vanished as he shook his head sorrowfully.  
  
"Then how can mother ever be accepted back into the clan when Brooklyn refuses to have anything to do with her?"  
  
"If Goliath welcomes Demona back then Brooklyn will have no choice but to accept his ruling. He's never gone against Goliath and it's doubtful he ever will."  
  
Angela was still troubled at this, she knew Brooklyn had been acting a little strange the last few months but he had always insisted he was just fine whenever she had asked him about it. With her and Broadway spending all their time together, and Lexington now spending all his time with Alex or his computers, she was worried that Brooklyn might be feeling lonely. She smiled inwardly. Maybe they could convince him to go to Avalon to find a mate, she knew of at least four females without mates on the island, surely one of them would be interested in Brooklyn. She made a decision to talk to Goliath about this as soon as possible.  
  
"Angela, Talon's here," said her husband, clearly a little curious.  
  
Angela turned to see Goliath talking to the leader of the Labyrinth. Talon seemed very anxious about something, he was also coughing a little, she moved closer to hear a little better.  
  
"As far as I can gather it was a professional job," said Talon.  
  
"Do you have any idea who did it?" asked Lexington.  
  
"No, but Maggie asked around and said some people noticed three guys walk in about five minutes before the explosion."  
  
"Anybody get a good look at them?" inquired Broadway.  
  
"All we know is that two of them were twins with long hair, while the other guy looked kind of old."  
  
"And you think Malibu's disappearance is connected somehow?" asked Goliath. He appeared to be in deep thought over something. "Brooklyn hasn't returned yet, and now you say Malibu fled the same night, perhaps whoever took Malibu has Brooklyn as well." Goliath looked up at his clan, his eyes betraying his worry at the potential danger that his second-in-command was in.  
  
"Talon, both our clans must work together on this. We must search the entire city and beyond. There is no telling what danger both of them are in."  
  
The Macbeth Estate Two Days Later  
  
"NO! Not again God damn it!"  
  
Macbeth looked around at Brooklyn and frowned, "What's the matter?"  
  
"This fucking computer's frozen again!"  
  
Brooklyn was currently sitting at one of the eight computers in Macbeth's castle, he looked extremely pissed about something. Macbeth quickly came over to the gargoyle before he put his fist through the monitor and checked the screen; he tapped a few keys and checked the screen.  
  
"This is the fourth time this thing has frozen on you, what have you been doing?"  
  
"I don't know," said the red gargoyle, "I guess these things just don't like me."  
  
"What are you doing anyway?"  
  
"I'm trying to send an e-mail to Lex."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I've been gone almost a week know. Goliath's already probably freaked about me. I just want to let them know I'm fine."  
  
"You aren't going to tell them where you are, are you?"  
  
"Give me some credit Macbeth. I ain't leaving until Demona's in a pine box."  
  
"Then let me help you before you blow the damn thing up."  
  
Macbeth quickly helped Brooklyn create a false e-mail account, and then told him how to e-mail before leaving the room to allow Brooklyn some privacy. After several minutes the Gargoyle exited the room he had been in and both then went to what had been dubbed the "War Room."  
  
It was a fairly big room with a massive ebony table in the centre with several chairs around it. Malibu and Jezebel were seated at the table while Fang was standing at the head of the table, a very smug look on his face, Malibu seemed fairly happy for his friend while Jezebel appeared to be concealing a great deal of loathing behind a polite smile.  
  
"So Fang, what is so important that you interrupt our preparations to finish Demona once and for all?"  
  
"I found it," replied the cougar mutate proudly.  
  
"Found what?"  
  
"The second Codicium!" said Malibu happily, "I told you we needed him!"  
  
Macbeth and Brooklyn stood where they were for a full minute absorbing the incredible news that they had just received before Brooklyn finally opened his mouth, still a little amazed and simply asked, "How?"  
  
"I've got connections."  
  
"With the most questionable people," cut in Jezebel, letting her loathing of the mutate flow.  
  
"Well from what I understand Jezzy," shot back Fang, "You used to be quite questionable yourself."  
  
Jezebel smiled politely and sat back in her chair, murder in her eyes.  
  
"Don't ever call me "Jezzy" Fang, or I shall have to resort to removing your balls with my shotgun. Do you understand?"  
  
Fang leaned over the table in the direction of the smiling old lady, smiling back with his large fangs.  
  
"Loud and clear Jezzy."  
  
Jezebel was about to remove her shotgun from her woollen coat to kill the rude and hairy son-of-a-bitch when Macbeth suddenly cut in.  
  
"That's enough from both of you! Your acting like a pair of bloody children for God's sake!"  
  
Both Jezebel and Fang looked over at their current employer innocently. Macbeth rolled his eyes in frustration before turning to Fang.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"It's owned by a Crime Lord named Lopez whose base of operations is in an Argentinean port called Bahia Blanca."  
  
"Never heard of him."  
  
"He's only regional, just about twenty or thirty under him, no problem for the four of us."  
  
"Five of us," said Jezebel sharply.  
  
"How'd he get his hands on it?" asked Malibu.  
  
"Apparently he iced some old colleague professor in Montevideo in Uruguay who had supposedly returned from a trip into the Brazilian rainforests with a book he found at a strange underground temple," explained Fang, "This was about eleven months ago. Ever since then some people have been found dead with really strange markings carved into their bodies. Like the ones you showed me."  
  
"He's obviously been trying to summon a daemon host," said Macbeth thoughtfully.  
  
"But he can't succeed without the rod of control," joined in Jezebel.  
  
"But he could always make another," said Brooklyn, not liking where this was going.  
  
"That would take months, even years," replied Jezebel, "The rod is covered by sixty-six intricately carved daemonic runes in a precise pattern, they must all be utterly perfect for the rod to be of any use at all, the slightest mistake in it's construction simply makes it a fancy looking iron stick."  
  
"In that case we should all go there and wipe him out before he figures out he has to build the rod before he can summon any daemons," said Malibu, rising from his seat.  
  
"No. Only Jezebel and I shall go," said Macbeth.  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Jezebel is a witch while I am immortal and a sorcerer. Between the pair of us, he doesn't stand a chance."  
  
"What if he cuts your head off?" asked Brooklyn.  
  
Macbeth smiled at the young gargoyle.  
  
"It didn't work for Madame Guillotine. It won't work for them."  
  
  
  
Eight hours later  
  
Jezebel finished loading up the all-terrain hum-vee while Macbeth gave instructions to Brooklyn, Malibu and Fang. Although the sun had risen, the trio were in their human forms. Jezebel smiled as she listened in.  
  
"Are you sure the three of you can handle Demona?"  
  
"Yes Macbeth," replied three voices in unison.  
  
"Now Brooklyn, I shall be back in two weeks. If you think the three of you can handle her, then go ahead and try. But for God's sake be careful."  
  
"What about the tome of lesser magic?" asked Malibu worriedly, "Don't you think you might need it to get the second Codicium?"  
  
"Not to worry my friend," replied the immortal slyly, "I have more than one book of magic." He winked, "Besides, the three of you need to use it's powers to disguise yourselves if you are going after Demona and Goliath and his clan interferes."  
  
"Okay," said the clone, certainty returning to his voice.  
  
Macbeth and Jezebel gave them all a final wave goodbye before getting into the ex-military vehicle and driving down the gravel road of the estate.  
  
"Don't worry!" yelled Brooklyn as the pair left, "She'll be in chains in the dungeon by the end of the week!"  
  
The trio continued waving until the hum-vee was out of sight. Brooklyn then threw his arms around his two new partners and guided them inside the castle.  
  
"Let's get to the "war room" boys," he said as he licked his lips.  
  
"We have a demon to hunt,"  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
So what do you think so far? If anyone has any opinions (or questions) about the series so far then you know my e-mail address. I'll even accept flames, as long as they are decent, with intelligent arguments. My next instalment "Release the Hounds," should hopefully be ready by the end of the week.  
  
Until next time.  
  
Darkness. 


	5. Release the Hounds

Release the Hounds  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
Dedicated to Storyseeker as he gave me a few ideas for the saga although I doubt he might like this particular chapter very much.  
  
  
  
The Macbeth Estate  
  
Malibu looked over the plan of action Brooklyn had drawn up to use against Demona; he looked over at his friend and gave him a quizzical look.  
  
"Are you sure this will work Brooklyn?"  
  
The blood red gargoyle looked up from sharpening a sword he had become obsessively fond of over the past four days. He had been sitting on the couch while Mal sat on the floor after several failed attempts at trying to get comfortable in one of the living room chairs. He smiled patiently at his friend before replying.  
  
"Out of all the places I know of that she goes in her daily routine, her office at Night Stone Ltd is the least heavily defended, it takes up the entire top floor and has floor to ceiling windows made of bullet-proof glass."  
  
"And how exactly are we supposed to get in?" asked Fang, entering the living room, he was in his mutate form, but like all of them, he was wearing human clothes. Fang wore a black Ozzie Osborne T-shirt, with tears on the back to accommodate his wings, as well as a pair of blue jeans that had a cut in the rear end so he could fit his tail in. Brooklyn wore black chinos and a black long sleeve shirt with the same "modifications" which Fang had made to his own clothes. Mal, on the other hand, was wearing sand coloured shorts and a light-weight, white Hawaiian short sleeve shirt with, yes, palm trees, coconuts and other awful crap you find on those terrible shirts. They had all been given a room with a wardrobe by Macbeth for when they used the spell he had given them so they could become human whenever they wanted. When Mal had come out of his room dressed as he was, Brooklyn and Fang had given each other very concerned looks. They silently agreed they would have to sit Mal down and discuss the finer points of fashion with him as soon as they had dealt with Demona.  
  
"You're the master criminal Fang, why don't you give us your professional opinion on the matter?" replied Brooklyn.  
  
"Couldn't we just use that glass breaking device we used to rescue Fang?" said the clone, as he rose to get a drink from the bar.  
  
"Maybe," said the Mutate, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"What about an armour piercing round from one of Macbeth's portable rocket launchers?" inquired Brooklyn, sheathing the sword and resting it on the coffee table. He then picked up the next item on the table, a .50 Desert Eagle pistol, taking the magazine out and checking it the way Macbeth had shown him.  
  
"I thought we were being paid to bring her here alive and in one piece?" replied Fang.  
  
"One, she's immortal Fang, which takes care of the "alive" part. Two, Macbeth never said anything about how many pieces we bring her back in. And three, you are getting paid, I on the other hand, am doing this to protect my clan from her as she is obviously using Angela to get close to Goliath so she can kill him and assume command of the clan again."  
  
"I'm getting paid," said Malibu as he poured himself a glass of wine.  
  
"WHAT?" yelled Brooklyn, staring at his clone as if he had just grown an extra head.  
  
"Good for you buddy!" cheered Fang.  
  
"How much?" asked Brooklyn, getting the feeling that he may have missed something very important about his clone's personality.  
  
"Two million, same as Fang," replied Mal, sticking a straw in his glass and taking a long suck, "Why? Don't tell me you didn't even think about asking for something for your troubles?"  
  
"I'm not some damn mercenary!"  
  
"That's a pity," said Fang, "I think you'd be quite good at it, that is if you ever decide to wake up and realise that if you're going to risk your life, then you'd better be getting paid for it."  
  
"Just what the Hell were you before Sevarius changed you Fang?"  
  
"Just some damn mercenary," replied the cougar mutate, "Sevarius said he would make me stronger. Although I didn't really count on the fur and wings," he rubbed his cheek before smiling, "But now thanks to Macbeth, I don't have to hide in the shadows. I can work again, this time with a very big advantage," he flapped his wings to demonstrate his point, "Now that I think of it, I think I haven't done that badly considering all the shit that's happened over the past several years."  
  
"I'm so happy for you," replied Brooklyn rather sarcastically.  
  
"Oh, go get a girlfriend," sneered Fang. Brooklyn gave him a look full of venom, before putting his pistol on the table and reaching for the sword.  
  
"Now children, play nice," interrupted Malibu quickly, bringing a tray with drinks for them all, "We all promised to put our differences aside and work together on this thing remember?"  
  
Fang and Brooklyn seemed to stare at each other for a long time before finally reaching for the wine Malibu had poured them.  
  
"So when should we make our move?" asked Fang, not breaking his stare with the Gargoyle.  
  
"Friday night," replied Brooklyn, staring right back, "She works late in her office on Fridays."  
  
"How the Hell do you know that?" asked Malibu, sounding puzzled. Brooklyn turned to him and smiled knowingly, before sitting back down and picking up a Tanto dagger to sharpen it.  
  
-Just great- thought Fang. -My partners consist of a Gargoyle stalker and a fashion unconscious clone.-  
  
He looked out the window while sipping his drink.  
  
-I wonder if Talon would consider letting me back in my cage.-  
  
  
  
Friday, Night Stone Ltd, Dominique Destine's office floor  
  
Demona rubbed her eyes as she filed through the mountain of paperwork she had to do before she could spend her weekend free of fuss, and more importantly, with her daughter.  
  
Goliath had reluctantly agreed to let Angela spend the weekend with her mother, provided that Broadway came with her to make sure she didn't try any funny stuff. She smiled at this thought. It would be the first time anyone stayed in her manor without the aid of chains or drugs.  
  
She liked Broadway, although she doubted the feeling was mutual, in her opinion, out of the three hopeless prats that Angela had to choose from, he was best as he made Angela happy, was neither short or had an obsession with hurting her.  
  
She sighed as she remembered the party Angela had invited her to. She had gone, both to see her daughter and to rub it in Goliath and Brooklyn's faces, but then Brooklyn had disappeared. The clan was still searching, despite the fact he had sent them an e-mail telling them not to worry.  
  
It had been a little over a week though since he had sent it. In that time Goliath had gone almost out of his mind with worry at the fate of his second, Talon's clan's search for Malibu and Fang had ended after it was painfully obvious that they weren't going to find them, no matter how hard they looked, while Margot Yale had been found dead in her apartment with her throat slit, the police declared it was suicide and moved on to the next case (A guy can dream can't he?). She herself had suspected a little foul play there, as her husband, Brendan, had no alibi and was found in the next room laughing hysterically, singing "Whose Laughing Now?" to himself. She let that pass though, just one more human she didn't have to worry about.  
  
Yes, it was true; she still hated humans, but not enough to wipe them off the face of the planet anymore. Angela had worked hard to show her that not all humans were totally evil, she didn't even hate that accursed detective Maza any longer, and she was willing to tolerate the existence of humanity, as long as they left her, her daughter and her clan alone.  
  
However, she would never be allowed back into the clan as long as the second-in-command had a voodoo doll of her in his room. Angela had told her that last year; she had seen Brooklyn trying to perform the ritual to bind her body to a teddy with wings sown on and a picture of her plastered over the face, while she looked on through the keyhole. In her own words, Brooklyn then produced the biggest knife he could find in the kitchen and began to stab it like a lunatic.  
  
Angela had considered telling Goliath about this but decided not to as Brooklyn never returned the knife to the kitchen.  
  
Obviously he had done it wrong, as Demona would probably have noticed the sudden feeling that she was being stabbed repeatedly.  
  
But still.  
  
There was only one thing for it, she was going to have to apologise to Brooklyn as soon as possible, before he got the procedure right or found a more reliable way to inflict pain upon her.  
  
It had been a definite mistake using him to betray Goliath. Even when he was young, he had shown an amazing capacity for hate, now; it seemed to have grown to something like an obsession. But she was willing to do anything to be allowed back in the clan to be with Angela.  
  
Anything that is, except going out to look for someone who wanted her dead. She would wait for him to return from wherever he was hiding, or until the clan found him and brought him home. Then, she would apologise, while in front of the clan.  
  
She hadn't survived over nine hundred years of people trying like Hell to kill her by being stupid.  
  
  
  
Two Blocks away on a skyscraper roof  
  
"Why the Hell do all these big companies have to have all these really tall buildings anyway?" asked Malibu as he watched the top floor room where Demona was currently working with a lot of papers on her desk through a pair of binoculars.  
  
"Real estate in Manhattan is extremely expensive," replied Fang, taking in the tremendous view of the city below him, "It would be just too expensive to buy up a lot of land and build a complex here."  
  
"Then why don't they just build outside of the city where the land might be cheaper?"  
  
"Um.bugger if I know."  
  
"One word, Environmentalists," said Brooklyn. Up until now he had been watching the top floor of Night Stone Ltd through a pair of binoculars, humming the "Harlem Globetrotters" theme tune to himself.  
  
"Nice of you to join the conversation," said Fang, "I hate that damn theme tune."  
  
Brooklyn smiled pleasantly at him, before returning to his binoculars and humming the "Harlem Globetrotters" theme tune just a little louder.  
  
"Asshole," muttered Fang under his breath.  
  
"Guys, are we going to kick her ass tonight or not?" asked Malibu, quickly losing his patience with his "partners-in-crime" so to speak. "Brooklyn, shouldn't you be using that book of lesser magic to change your appearance before we go get her?"  
  
"Yes Mommy," muttered the red gargoyle as he fumbled in his backpack for the book. After he found it, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked around a small structure so Mal and Fang couldn't see him.  
  
"Are you two sure you don't want me to use the spell to make you two look different?"  
  
"No thanks, I have no intention of going back to my clan after this is over," replied Mal.  
  
"What about you Fang?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Okay, remember no peeking. I know exactly what I want to look like!"  
  
They heard what sounded like Brooklyn undressing himself, followed by almost five minutes of chanting. They both jumped when they heard a few screams of pain, but they didn't move to investigate as Brooklyn had explained it would be quite painful but it wouldn't last long. After the screams, they heard a little panting, followed by some fumbling around the backpack. Twenty minutes after it had started, the new Brooklyn appeared around the structure, in new clothes and a new body. He smiled at them. They stared back in total shock.  
  
"You're sick," said Fang after several minutes. Malibu nodded his head in agreement.  
  
"I know," said the new Brooklyn.  
  
  
  
Ten minutes later  
  
They had finally decided on their course of action two days before, it was very simple. Fang would load and arm an armour piercing rocket into the launcher they had taken from Macbeth's armoury, Malibu and "Brooklyn" would then glide across and wait on the roof of a nearby building, when they were ready, Fang would fire the launcher into whatever room Demona happened to be in and when it broke through the glass and exploded, he would then glide towards the building as quickly as possible to aid "Brooklyn" and Malibu in her capture. Simple.  
  
"Like breaking a walnut with a sledgehammer," Fang mumbled to himself as he prepped the launcher and took aim.  
  
-This is overkill,- the voice in his head kept saying over and over again.  
  
-There is no way in Hell she warrants this kind of attack. I've met her for God's sake! A machine gun would definitely be necessary, not a damn rocket launcher!-  
  
But Brooklyn had planned the attack and had insisted they cause as much physical misery on her as possible. Fang knew Demona had done something to Brooklyn that he had refused to talk about with either him or Mal, but he couldn't for the life of him guess what it was that earned such incredible loathing from him.  
  
Shaking his head one last time, he took aim at the office Demona was in and waited for Mal and "Brooklyn" to get into position.  
  
Mal looked over at his friend as they glided into position and sighed. He was going to have to make Brooklyn tell him what Demona had done to him to earn he was about to give her. He knew the gargoyle Brooklyn had changed into, and he knew for a fact that if Demona was conscious when they got to her, there was going to be one Hell of a ruckus.  
  
"Any particular reason you chose that form Brook?"  
  
"I want her to get pissed," replied the gargoyle.  
  
"Why the Hell would you want Demona pissed at you?"  
  
"People who are blinded by rage make mistakes," replied Brooklyn coolly, "I know that from personal experience."  
  
"Well, you seem pretty calm tonight."  
  
"That is because I know tonight is the night I will finally have revenge."  
  
"I thought you were doing this for the good of your clan?"  
  
"Well.yes, of course I am! Well.maybe not totally for the good of the clan." his eyes suddenly flared, "Okay! Okay! I'm doing this mainly for revenge! You happy now Mal? I said it! In fact I'll say it again! I AM DOING THIS OUT OF REVENGE! THE FACT THAT IT WILL BENEFIT THE CLAN GREATLY IS A COINCIDENCE!"  
  
Malibu looked shocked as they moved to land on a skyscraper roof. He had never seen Brooklyn explode into mad roaring before, it was frightening. Whatever Demona had done to him, it was making him seethe with an utter hatred that Mal hoped would end after Demona was finally in a wooden box. He wasn't entirely sure if Brooklyn's sanity would have held if Demona were allowed back in his clan.  
  
He sighed as they landed and Brooklyn gave the signal to Fang that he could fire at will. The mutate acknowledged them, aimed the launcher and fired.  
  
The rocket, one meter long with black and yellow strips painted across its white hull was released with a small, muffled explosion. It tore across the sky, its speed continuously accelerating. It flew over Mal and Brooklyn's heads and crashed through the bulletproof glass windows of Dominique Destine's top floor office. One tenth of a second after penetrating, it blew. The noise was deafening to the two gargoyles' sensitive ears, they had been actually been forced to cover them. God himself only knew what it would have been like inside the office. God and Demona that is.  
  
Every window on the top floor, and six beneath it, shattered, the deadly shrapnel plummeting onto the empty streets below. Brooklyn, to his credit, had postponed his revenge until almost half three in the morning, reducing the likelihood of any innocents being hurt, although this did only leave several hours to capture Demona for Macbeth.  
  
Mal shot Brooklyn a glance, still keeping his hands pressed tightly against his ears. Brooklyn was doing the same, although he had a maniacal grin on his face. He looked up at the headquarters of Night Stone Ltd; the top floor was a blazing waste. Most of the roof had collapsed upon the top floor, stopping the blaze in places while the fires raged in other areas.  
  
It was a horrifying, yet strangely beautiful sight, a beacon, lighting up the night sky, declaring that the Angel of Vengeance had finally come for Demona Wyvern.  
  
Mal shook his head.  
  
-No, that's probably how Brooklyn sees it,- he thought to himself, -To everybody else, it looks like a terrorist attack. Which means we'll have to act quickly, before the cops and F.B.I arrive.-  
  
Brooklyn seemed to have read his thoughts. He had been wearing that sword, a silver and black katana, on a belt at his waist, he had drawn it and was holding it in his right hand, the tanto dagger and Desert Eagle pistol, along with several spare clips, hung on his belt.  
  
Mal had also seen the wisdom of arming himself; he wore a pair of short- barrelled revolvers in holsters below his shoulders, as well as a pair of duelling daggers on his belt, two pouches also rested on his belt, which contained extra bullets for his pistols.  
  
"Shall we?" roared Brooklyn, in his new form.  
  
"Lets!" replied Mal, drawing his pistols. The two gargoyles rushed to the edge of the roof and jumped, unfurling their wings to catch an updraft, they headed towards the ruined top floor. Mal shot a glance behind them, Fang was airborne, and gliding as quickly as he could to assist them if the needed it.  
  
Inside what's left of Night Stone Ltd's top floor  
  
Demona stirred, she couldn't hear anything, her eyes were only registering bright blurs across her vision, she felt like everything, herself included, was going in slow motion. She had felt like this before, a long, long time ago, what was the word for it? "Shell Shock," that was it.  
  
How the Devil could you get shell shock in an office?  
  
One by one, her senses eventually began to come back into sync with her body. She began to register things.  
  
Fire; there was fire literally everywhere, on the floor, the walls, in cracks in the rubble.  
  
Rubble?  
  
Her smell returned next, although wished it hadn't. She could smell, smoke, things burning as well as.  
  
.as well as cooked meat. No, no wait, that wasn't cooked meat she could smell. It was burning flesh.  
  
Her flesh.  
  
She didn't wait for her other senses to come back, she willed herself, forced herself to move. She had no idea what the Hell had happened, but in her own experience, shit like this only happened when someone wearing a black outfit and a black hood with red streaks across it came to visit.  
  
She had no idea what kind of damage her body was in, she didn't really care, as long as her wings could get her to her mansion, she would be safe, the defence network in her home could knock out a bomber squadron.  
  
At the moment, her body didn't register any pain, which meant she was in shock; she hoped it wouldn't wear off any time soon. She wasn't really looking forward to it; she had already gathered from the smell she had quite a few third degree burns upon her body. She looked down at herself and cringed.  
  
Her clothes were mostly burned off and torn; a bit of her desk was protruding from her right thigh in the form of a rather large splinter, not an inch of her body wasn't covered in huge lacerations or third degree burns, her head was swimming, she was still as deaf as a post, she had a nasty feeling that what little probably remained of her hair was on fire, or at least smouldering, she could taste blood in her mouth, which meant she her fangs had clamped down on her tongue when whatever the Hell just happened happened, she wasn't walking, she was half staggering, half limping her way towards the edge that had once been two inch thick bullet proof glass.  
  
-Fat lot of good that did me,- she thought bitterly to herself. It occurred to her that she should watch her step in case her feet landed on any shards of glass, she scanned the floor and noticed none, that at least confirmed the glass hadn't been blown in.  
  
-Which is why I haven't been shredded,- she thought, almost smiling to herself. That meant the explosion had come from the inside. She tried to scour her memory for anything odd she may have noticed before finding herself in the middle of Hell. A sound flickered in her memory, a sound of some sort, a crack, something had cracked violently near.near.her window, that was it, she had been turning her head to see what it was when she had blacked out and woken up with injuries that would have killed absolutely anyone else. That only told her one thing. She was only alive because Macbeth hadn't done this, which just reduced the list of people who probably didn't want her breathing anymore by a single person, which was not extremely helpful as the list was a about the same length as her wingspan.  
  
Men wanted her dead, gargoyles wanted her dead, the Hunter wanted her dead, the Quarrymen wanted her dead, several European and Middle Eastern governments knew of her existence and wanted it to end, not to mention the Yakuza, the Triads, the I.R.A, the Italian Mafia, and several less powerful and well known organisations who didn't particularly like her that much.  
  
One thing about immortality that particularly sucked was the fact it gave you plenty of time to make an awful lot of enemies.  
  
And these were just the ones she could pick off the top of her head.  
  
She looked back at her wings and her heart plummeted. They were wrecked; holes littered the membrane while other parts had been burned off completely. Even with her quick healing abilities, she wasn't going anywhere soon, she would have to climb down all one hundred and four storeys of her skyscraper and try and get into one of her safe houses that she had littered around the city, she could stay there and recover, contact her daughter to let her know she was fine and stay there until the heat was down. The press would probably want a press conference with her, but they could go get stuffed for all she cared, she despised the Media. She began to look around the city beneath her, trying to get her bearings; she was still stone deaf from the explosion, which was why she didn't hear the battle cries of the two gargoyles that landed behind her.  
  
They both regarded her, as she staggered around what was left of her very big office, looking out over the Manhattan skyline.  
  
"Ah, Brooklyn, what the Hell's wrong with her?"  
  
"I think Fang's little fireworks display damaged her hearing a little," replied Brooklyn, he stared a moment longer, "Maybe her sanity as well."  
  
"How can she even stand after that? I mean look at her! She moving like one those fucked up zombies from "Night of the Living Dead!" She shouldn't have survived that!"  
  
"Like I keep telling you Mal, she is immortal, she can survive a fucking nuclear bomb as long as it isn't Macbeth who triggers it."  
  
"Cool!"  
  
"I doubt it. Over a thousand years of life has driven her mad. She can't be allowed to hurt anyone else ever again."  
  
Brooklyn, in his new form strode up to the badly injured and slightly shell shocked Demona, grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around roughly with one hand to face her and smiled evilly at her.  
  
Her eyes widened in terror as see saw who stood before her, she thought he was dead, maybe he was, maybe she was just seeing things, maybe he was a ghost, maybe she really was dead, maybe this really was Hell.  
  
"Hello Demona," said the gargoyle, as he stretched out his left hand, open palmed, and placed it against her burned chest.  
  
"Thailog!" whispered Demona, as the gargoyle pushed hard against her chest, sending her over the edge and falling one hundred and four storeys to the ground.  
  
The gargoyle she believed to be Thailog, but which was in fact Brooklyn looked over the edge in a casual manner, a nasty grin on his face. Mal came up beside him and looked down at the still plummeting and desperately flailing Demona, as she tried vainly to use her ruined wings to slow her descent, or to try and get her near the wall so she could sink her talons into it to stop altogether. But her wings were too badly damaged, many nerves having been fried during the explosion, making them utterly useless to her.  
  
Mal stared at her in horror as she had now gone halfway down, gaining speed with every second.  
  
"You know, she looked a bit far gone there."  
  
"What's your point?"  
  
"You could have just punched her Brook, it didn't really look as if she needed much prompting to black out again."  
  
"Maybe.but this is more fun."  
  
"I think you're very sick."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not."  
  
"Hey guys! Where is she?" asked Fang as he landed beside them and looked over the edge just in time to see Demona impact with the road. Both he and Mal cringed at the sight while Brooklyn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"Mal! Find a hardware store. I fear we may need a bag and some shovels."  
  
Mal was about to throw up, but he held it back.  
  
-I do it later,- he promised himself.  
  
"Do you think Macbeth felt that?" asked Fang, not being able to take his eyes from the tiny, yet horrific sight below him.  
  
"Considering he is in Bahia Blanca in Argentina I kinda doubt it," replied Brooklyn. "Now the police will be here any minute, let's go and collect our target."  
  
He jumped down and headed towards the mess below him, his two companions following reluctantly at a fair distance.  
  
  
  
One hour later a hotel in Bahia Blanca, Argentina  
  
"The terrorist attack on the headquarters of Night Stone Ltd has been the worst in Manhattan's history since the World Trade Centre bombing," said the reporter, "Although the only suspected casualty thus far is Dominique Destine, CEO of Night Stone, whose entire top floor office was taken out by what experts are calling a missile for taking out tanks." the report suddenly ended as the television was switched off.  
  
"Well, at least I know what caused that headache now," said Macbeth as he rose from his chair.  
  
"Definitely an interesting way of apprehending her," said Jezebel Tibbs from the built in bathroom as she tried unsuccessfully to wash out bloodstains in her white blouse, "No body will search for her if they think she was vaporised in the explosion like anyone else may have been."  
  
"That's we have a problem Jezebel."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Well, several other news channels have reported a dent in the road and a huge amount of blood a little in front of the building."  
  
"Oh dear. You don't think she fell off do you?"  
  
"Probably with the kind assistance from a certain red skinned gentleman we know."  
  
"Does he really hate her that much?"  
  
"Almost as much as I do I suspect."  
  
"Now that we are done here sir. Shall I go to the airport in the morning and purchase two plane tickets to New York?"  
  
"No Jezebel, tomorrow you and I are going to hire a boat in the harbour. We are then going to sail two hundred miles out, and then I am going to dump that damn book overboard." He looked over at the iron box he had placed it in; its pages were still stained with blood. Lopez hadn't given it up without a fight. Almost two-dozen more people had died because of the Malus Codicium. Tomorrow, he was going to ensure that they were the last to ever die because of this damn copy. Dumping it in the sea was the only option, any direct attempts to destroy it left him writhing in agony until he had achieved a safe distance from it.  
  
When this one was gone, there would only be his copy left, it would remain hidden forever in his estate, away from prying eyes and those who sought power at any price.  
  
He would have to entrust the codes to the locks and other devices, which kept the Codicium safe and despite the incident at Night Stone, Brooklyn was still the most trustworthy of the trio and least likely to be corrupted if the person he hated most on earth was dead already.  
  
He smiled and closed his eyes at the thought of never having to worry about that damn book again. It felt like a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders, now only one real weight remained.  
  
Demona.  
  
In less than a week's time, she would be dead, and so would he. The wretched tale of misery and revenge was finally entering its last chapter. Finally he could see Grouarch again, he could see his son again, and all those he had loved dearly over the ages. In less than a week's time, he would finally be free.  
  
-I finally beat you,- he thought happily to himself, -I finally beat you three underhanded, scheming little bitches.-  
  
He lounged back happily as, unbeknownst to him, three owls, one white, one black, and one a golden yellow, were watching him through his room's window from a tree outside. They appeared very, very pissed.  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
A bit of a crappy ending I know but I was having trouble figuring out how to end it. Flames, questions, ideas are greatly welcome, you know my e-mail address. Until the next time!  
  
Darkness 


	6. Death and a Loss of Trust

Death, and a loss of Trust  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
The Macbeth Estate  
  
Demona stirred wearily, her eyes flickering open slowly. She couldn't see anything; she was surrounded by total darkness. She in a considerable amount of pain wherever she was, she tried to sit up, but found she couldn't, experimentally, she tried to move all her limbs, one at a time, gritting her teeth and ignoring the burning pain, as expected, she couldn't move. She had been restrained quite heavily.  
  
She heard the creaking of a door opening somewhere but couldn't turn her head in the direction of the sound. Suddenly a very powerful light above her flared, blinding her. She shut her eyes quickly, over the hum of the light, she could hear soft footsteps approaching where she lay, she felt a shadow come over her head. She opened her eyes to regard the new comer, her eyes widening as she recognise his upside down face.  
  
"Brooklyn?"  
  
"Nice to see you finally pulled yourself together," replied the red gargoyle, grinning, "It wasn't very pleasant picking you up with some shovels."  
  
"Why the Hell are you helping Thailog?"  
  
Brooklyn gave her an odd look, before something appeared to click at the back of his head.  
  
"Oh that's right, I forgot! I was Thailog back there."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I used a spell to make myself look like Thailog to freak you out. It worked too."  
  
"When did you start using spells?"  
  
"I have been using them since I helped break Fang out of the Labyrinth."  
  
Demona looked stunned. "That was you?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Why? I thought you hated Fang?"  
  
Brooklyn shrugged. "Necessity makes for some very strange bed fellows."  
  
"And Malibu, he's involved in this as well I presume?"  
  
"He's the one who suggested we save him."  
  
Demona stayed still, taking all this new information in. She looked from side to side. She was securely clamped to a steel-operating table in what appeared to be a dungeon of some sort. She looked back up at Brooklyn. Despite being upside down to her, she could make out that he was wearing some sort of black outfit.  
  
"Why are you doing this to me?"  
  
The grin on Brooklyn's face vanished in an instant, his eyes flared white as he slapped her, hard across the face.  
  
"Do you really have to ask you bitch!" he roared, slapping her violently again. "You used me! You fucking used me! It's because of you we're on the verge of extinction! You killed countless people! And you've gotten off scot-free with it as well!"  
  
Tears of rage were forming in his eyes, he moved to the side of the table, grabbed her by her red hair with his left hand, while raining blow after blow to her face with his right, all the while spitting venom at her. After five minutes of unrelenting violence, he stopped.  
  
Demona had never experienced such terrible physical pain before tonight her entire life. Brooklyn had busted both her lips, her nose; he had broken her jaw, and had bruised every part of her face.  
  
Panting in exhaustion, he staggered away from the table and put his arms against a wall for support, he stayed there for a long time. Demona stared at him through bloodied eyes.  
  
She didn't hate him for what he had just done to her, in fact, because of this; she thought she understood him better.  
  
He had been consumed, as she had been with thoughts of hatred and revenge. He was going down the same path she had once gone down and it was all her fault. She had done this to him. She had used him for her own purposes and then caste him aside. Tears began to form in her eyes. Tears of pity and sadness for this soul that she had had a hand in corrupting. At that moment, Brooklyn turned around. He saw her tears and smiled cruelly at her.  
  
"Crying won't save you," he said, advancing towards the table again, "I am going to ensure that you suffer for every single person whose life you've fucked up or ended over all these years."  
  
Demona ignored the mind numbing pain in her jaw, she didn't care how much it hurt, she had to reach out to him before it was too late for him to ever go back that happy, care-free gargoyle she had once known at Wyvern.  
  
"I'm.not crying for.me."  
  
"Oh, really? Then just whom are you crying for?"  
  
"For you."  
  
Brooklyn's eyes bulged, "What did you say?"  
  
"I said.I'm crying for you."  
  
His eyes flared, "Bull-shit."  
  
"No.it's not.you're becoming like me."  
  
"NO!" screamed the red gargoyle, now so angry he had gone beyond all reason. "I WILL NEVER BE LIKE YOU!" he howled, as he began pounding her face again and again and again. Demona had blacked out soon after he had started, but that didn't stop him, he continued his assault on her. He only stopped because Malibu and Fang came in to find out what all the noise was about, took one look at him beating the life out of their prisoner and made a grab for him. They literally had to drag him kicking and screaming out of the dungeon; all the while he roared obscenities at Demona.  
  
Fang and Mal kicked the door to the nearest room, which happened to be guest room, wide open, and dragged the still struggling Brooklyn in and threw him on the bed.  
  
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" yelled Fang, as he placed himself between Brooklyn and the door. "Have you fucking lost it or something?"  
  
"It's none of your concern," snarled Brooklyn, sitting up on the bed.  
  
All that he'd seen the past day, all the damage that Brooklyn had done to Demona, visibly shook Mal; he knew Brooklyn never acted anything remotely close to this towards anyone else. He was determined to find out just what Demona had done to deserve such horrible treatment.  
  
Putting the sudden fear that he had of his friend aside, Mal sat beside Brooklyn and put his hand on the red gargoyle's shoulder. Brooklyn snarled at him, but Mal smiled back. Brooklyn tried to maintain his snarl, but failed when he looked into Mal's kind grey eyes.  
  
"It's time you told us just what she did you Brooklyn."  
  
Brooklyn looked to Fang, amazingly, he didn't look angry, he was looking just as concerned as Malibu. He sighed woefully, before telling them everything, how Demona had betrayed the clan in 994A.D, which led to the Wyvern massacre, how she created the Hunter and betrayed Macbeth, how she had used him to betray Goliath and how she sought to wipe out all humanity with a virus. Fang and Malibu listened patiently to him, encouraging him to go on and tell them everything.  
  
After he had finished, the trio remained silent for some time before any of them spoke. Eventually, it was Fang who broke the silence.  
  
"Gee, and to think I wanted to screw her once." It earned a small chuckle from the two gargoyles.  
  
"Don't worry Brook, by the end of the week, Macbeth will be back, and this will finally all be over," smiled Mal, giving the red gargoyle's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.  
  
"I.I.your right," sighed Brooklyn, "By the end of the week Demona will be dead and I can go home to my clan again and put her behind me once and for all."  
  
On Sunday morning, Macbeth and Jezebel Tibbs arrived back at the estate. They received a warm welcome from the trio who were in human form and who were especially pleased with themselves, having taken Demona in their first attempt. Macbeth congratulated the three of them, promising to summon his lawyers at once, so that he could make a will, leaving the three of them his entire estate and resources.  
  
This came as a major shock for the three, Brooklyn especially; all he was looking for was revenge, now he was about to become the joint owner of one of the largest fortunes on the planet. It had taken a full day for the lawyers to arrive and assist in the drafting of a complete will for the estate. Jezebel wasn't left out of the will; she was to be given ten million dollars on the event of Macbeth's death.  
  
After the legal staff had left, Macbeth wearily sat down to dinner with his four friends.  
  
"Macbeth?" said Malibu, a hint of sadness in his voice; he knew that Macbeth and Demona's fates were intertwined with each other's. Brooklyn had explained it to both Fang and himself before Jezebel and Macbeth had returned.  
  
"Yes Malibu?"  
  
"When are you.I mean.when."  
  
"Am I going to kill Demona?" finished Macbeth.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Tomorrow night. I am going to lie in bed one last time to dream before I die. I want to spend one last day with the four of you before I finally end it all."  
  
The four of them looked genuinely touched by this. Even though they had differences and the occasional clash of personalities, they had all grown quite close in the short period of time that they had spent together.  
  
They all raised their glasses and toasted to Macbeth, their employer, their ally and their friend.  
  
Outside the estate, the Wyrd Sisters frowned.  
  
"This is most irritating," said Luna.  
  
"Indeed, our children are about to destroy each other," said Phoebe.  
  
"We must act quickly," said Selene.  
  
"But you know our Lord's law," said Luna.  
  
"We cannot use our magic to directly interfere with mortals," said Phoebe.  
  
"Who said anything about magic?" replied Selene, smiling. Luna and Phoebe regarded her curiously.  
  
"You have a plan sister?" inquired Luna.  
  
"Indeed I do sister," replied Selene. Using awesome power granted to her by Lord Oberon, she transported herself and her sisters to outside a strange building with a neon sign above it.  
  
"You have taken us to a "Cyber Café?" said Luna as she read the sign suspiciously.  
  
"Yes sister."  
  
"How exactly will coffee assist us in stopping Macbeth's plan to kill Demona sister?" asked Phoebe, losing her patience.  
  
Selene rolled her eyes before telling her sisters her plan.  
  
  
  
Inside the Cyber Café  
  
It was an especially slow night for Carl Jameson, sole proprietor of the "Dark City Cyber Café," he hadn't had a customer all night. Frankly, he didn't know why his business was failing, his computers were extremely reliable, his place was clean and he hadn't had a single case of food poisoning in almost a week.  
  
Suddenly, the door to his establishment flew open as three remarkably beautifully women, all clad in matching black leather jackets, vests, black pants and hooker boots stormed in. They were obviously sisters, as all looked identical other than the colour of their hair. One's was platinum white, another's was golden blonde, while the last's was the blackest he had ever seen. The three regarded him as if he was the lowest form of life imaginable before the black haired one spoke to him in an imperious manner.  
  
"You, mortal!" she spat.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You shall grant us access to one of your computers!"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You shall also show us how to perform the e-mail ritual," snapped the blonde.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"You will also produce an extra large café latte with Hazelnut syrup," stated the white haired one. Her two sisters gave her an odd look when she was finished.  
  
"I have desired to try one for some years now," she explained.  
  
Her two sisters rolled their eyes at this, before demanding an extra large cappuccino, an extra large café mocha deluxe and three triple chocolate muffins.  
  
After Carl had shown them how to send an e-mail, they told him to leave them in a less than polite manner. After he had gone back to the counter, Luna and Phoebe turned to Selene.  
  
"Now that we know how to e-mail sister," said Luna, he mouth full of muffin, "Who shall we e-mail?"  
  
"Don't speak with your mouth full," snapped Phoebe, sipping her Mocha.  
  
"We shall contact Goliath's clan," said Selene, pleased with herself, "They will undoubtedly be concerned with Demona's safety, now that they are convinced she will be reformed soon."  
  
"Excellent idea sister."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Selene cast a quick spell, giving her Xanatos's e-mail address. Once she had done this, she gave the location of Demona, explaining Macbeth's plans, as well as the fact he was being aided by Fang and Malibu, and that they were holding Brooklyn captive. This done, she sent the e-mail.  
  
"If I may sister?" asked Luna, remembering to swallow before talking this time, "Why did you say Brooklyn was being held captive?"  
  
"If Goliath will not rush to save Demona, then will most certainly go to save his second-in-command," explained Selene, "Besides, it will be most entertaining to see the look on his face when he finds out his second was an accomplice in an attempted murder."  
  
They smiled cruelly at each other, as they pictured Goliath ripping Brooklyn to shreds for going behind his back.  
  
"A most fitting punishment for the interfering scum," said Phoebe, downing her mocha, her eyes widened suddenly as she seemed to stare out into space.  
  
"Sister, are you all right?" asked Luna.  
  
"I.I think I am going to be sick!" said Phoebe. She stood suddenly, knocking her chair back, before running to where she hoped the washroom was. Her two sisters stared after her, before turning to the proprietor.  
  
"Have you poisoned our sister?" asked Selene.  
  
The man visibly squirmed under her gaze, he was sweating profusely.  
  
"I.no.it's just I always seem to screw up mochas," he stammered.  
  
The two sisters rose together from their computer and approached him in a menacing stride.  
  
"In that case," said Luna.  
  
"You will not charge us for the mocha," snapped Selene.  
  
"Understood."  
  
  
  
The Macbeth Estate early in the morning  
  
Brooklyn, now in human form, followed Macbeth through a secret passage that had been behind a sliding wall, together they went down a set of stairs followed by a well-lit corridor. Upon reaching the end of the corridor, they came upon a large, heavily reinforced titanium door.  
  
"So this is where the last Malus Codicium is kept," said Brooklyn.  
  
"It is my friend," replied Macbeth, "For almost two hundred years, I have kept it from human hands. Now that responsibility shall fall to you."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"You are the most trustworthy of you and your friends, and after Demona is dead, there will be nothing left for you to hate, which means you might be able to approach the blasted thing and destroy it."  
  
"It can sense hate?"  
  
"And manipulate it."  
  
Brooklyn looked at the door while Macbeth produced a sheet of paper and handed it to the gargoyle turned human.  
  
"These are the codes to the thirteen titanium doors, as well as the other security emplacements."  
  
"It's a bit overkill if you ask me Macbeth."  
  
"It's necessary. Do you accept the task."  
  
Brooklyn thought for a moment, trying to look past all those security emplacements to the book that was kept inside.  
  
"I accept."  
  
  
  
The Eyrie Building  
  
Owen Burnett watched the sun descend from the sky atop the parapets of castle Wyvern. As soon as it set, a rescue mission would begin. Xanatos had received an e-mail from an anonymous source, saying Demona and Brooklyn were being held against their will at Macbeth's estate, and that Macbeth was going to kill Demona sometime tonight.  
  
The clan had been informed moments before sunrise. Goliath had asked Owen to contact Talon's clan, as they may want to help in apprehending Malibu and Fang. Consequently, they had, Talon, Maggie and Claw were hear, awaiting the gargoyles to awake from their stone sleep. The clones were hear as well, they were in stone sleep, but Puck had gotten the idea that he should teach Alexander how to teleport objects from one place to another for the child's daily lesson.  
  
The sun set and as one, ten gargoyles awoke from their stone sleep, roaring and spraying bits of masonry everywhere.  
  
"Lets go!" roared Goliath, jumping from the battlements, one by one the others followed, Broadway stopping to pick up Bronx.  
  
"Good luck to you," said Owen in usual monotone self as the twelve shapes headed inland as quickly as possible.  
  
  
  
The Macbeth Estate  
  
Macbeth sighed as he regarded his four friends. This was it, he was finally ready to die. He had eaten his last meal (A huge seven course dinner which Jezebel had prepared), he had smoked his last smoke (A twelve inch long Cuban cigar) and had finally danced his last dance (Several hours ago when Fang had suggested they all go to a club while in human form and go on the floor and dance like there was no tomorrow. By the end of it Jezebel was exhausted, Fang was slightly tipsy, while Brooklyn and Malibu had between them almost two-dozen women's' phone numbers).  
  
They were all currently sitting in the living room of the castle, they all looked sullen, Malibu was smoking, Fang was looking at his feet, Brooklyn was staring into a glass of brandy that he had been holding for the past ten minutes while Jezebel was staring off into space.  
  
Macbeth considered trying to brighten the mood, but how do you do that when your friends know you are planning to die tonight?  
  
Fortunately, he didn't have to do anything to take his friends' minds off their depressing line of thought. An enormous inhuman roar from the open courtyard in the centre of the castle did that for him.  
  
Brooklyn shot up out of his seat, he looked panicked.  
  
"I know that roar," stuttered the red gargoyle.  
  
"It's Goliath!" yelled Fang, on his feet now and rushing to the castle armoury. Macbeth got up and sprinted to a coffee table that his Tome of Lesser Magic lay upon. He flicked through the pages quickly while turning back towards Brooklyn.  
  
"What the Hell are you doing?" yelled the gargoyle, desperately looking for someplace, anyplace to hide.  
  
"They must never know you were here!" replied Macbeth, casting the spell much quicker than Brooklyn could ever hope to. Within a matter of seconds, Brooklyn no longer stood before them. In his place, stood a gargoyle with light grey skin, wings similar to Brooklyn's, long flowing blonde hair, bony ridges above his eyes, elfish ears and a short pair of horns.  
  
"Cool," said Mal, "So how does this help us in any way?"  
  
"I am just making sure that Goliath doesn't kill Brooklyn for helping us."  
  
"Great idea!" said Brooklyn, his voice dripping sarcasm, "Instead he'll be killing this gargoyle! I feel so much better now!"  
  
Fang returned at that moment, two electric stun guns and a pair of wooden staffs in hand.  
  
"Here ya go boys!" he said, throwing both the gargoyles a staff and gun each.  
  
Brooklyn looked down at the gun he had just caught.  
  
"I'm not using this against my clan!"  
  
"Switch it a low setting," instructed Mal, checking the setting on his own gun before shoving it in his belt. Reluctantly Brooklyn followed suit.  
  
Armed, the five ran into the main hall just as they heard the doors attached to the courtyard splinter.  
  
"How many?" said Jezebel calmly as she began sliding solid core shells into her shotgun. She stopped however when she saw the look Brooklyn was giving her.  
  
"No guns Jezebel! These are my family!"  
  
Reluctantly, she shoved the shotgun back into her woollen coat.  
  
"What's the plan boss?" asked Fang, wearily eyeing down the corridor that led to the entrance to the courtyard while his hands began to glow and crackle with electricity.  
  
"Macbeth! You and Jezebel go and kill Demona! The three of us will hold them off as long as we can," ordered Brooklyn. Everyone turned and stared at him.  
  
"What? You wanted a plan? Well you got one!"  
  
"Thank you Brooklyn," said Macbeth as he took the young gargoyle's hand in a warrior's grip. With that, he and Jezebel headed down the corridor leading to the dungeon.  
  
"Okay fearless leader," said Fang, " Just how the Hell do we hold them off?"  
  
"Um.ah.ah.Bugger."  
  
Just then, Goliath came charging around the corner of the courtyard corridor, a deafening roar thundering from his throat. Behind him came his entire clan, Angela, Broadway, Lexington, Hudson and Bronx, as well as the mutates Talon, Claw and Maggie, not to mention the clones, Delilah, Burbank, Brentwood and Hollywood.  
  
They all stopped when they saw Malibu, Fang and some unknown gargoyle stand before them, a little shocked that they were outnumbered more than four-to- one and would probably be severely hammered before several minutes had passed.  
  
"Where are Brooklyn and Demona being held?" boomed the enormous lavender brute.  
  
Malibu, Fang and the other gargoyle gave each other questioning looks before the grey gargoyle eventually spoke up.  
  
"I'm very sorry but we have no idea what you are talking about."  
  
"LIARS!"  
  
The trio actually jumped back in terror.  
  
"Goliath! Listen to me," started the grey.  
  
"Wait a second!" yelled Broadway, "Just who the Hell are you anyway?"  
  
The grey's eyes appeared to dart around the room for a brief second before coming to rest on a shield that had a painting of a pair of crossed.  
  
"Lances!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I mean Lance! My name's Lance!"  
  
Goliath turned the rotund aquamarine gargoyle.  
  
"Broadway! Take Bronx, Angela, Claw and Hollywood and search the castle for Demona and Brooklyn!"  
  
The said gargoyles and mutate nodded, Angela kneeled down and took a small white glove, belonging to Dominique Destine, and held it to Bronx's nose. The gargdog sniffed the glove and bolted down the same corridor Jezebel and Macbeth had gone down minutes before, Broadway and the others racing after on all fours.  
  
"Goliath please you don't understand!" yelled Lance.  
  
Goliath turned to him and began to advance menacingly, "What don't I understand Lance?"  
  
The grey gargoyle shoulders drooped, "Aw forget it, you aren't going to listen anyway." He sighed deeply, as if he had come to a difficult decision, and then without another word, he pulled a stun gun from his belt and shot Goliath right in the chest. The lavender gargoyle was sent flying through the air crashing into a suit of armour, smashing it, and hitting the back of his head against the wall and crumpling to the ground unconscious. Fang and Mal stared at the grey gargoyle in total disbelief.  
  
"You shot him!"  
  
"Lance" smiled sheepishly, "It was him or me."  
  
Jezebel and Macbeth had reached the door leading to the dungeon when they heard an inhuman roar coming from behind them. They turned quickly to see Bronx hurtling down the corridor towards them, followed by Broadway, Angela, Claw, and two of the clones.  
  
A determined expression crossed Jezebel's usually kind face. She took a step towards the on coming party and raised her hands, open palmed, towards them.  
  
"Glacies Vinite!"  
  
The ground along the corridor before Jezebel became covered with ice in an instant, causing Broadway and the others to lose their balance, in turn causing them to slide along and hit the walls or crash into antique furniture.  
  
Grinning to herself, Jezebel ushered Macbeth into the dungeon, slamming and locking the steel door behind her.  
  
The pair quickly began to descend a small flight of stairs, reaching the secondary door just as the gargoyles reached the primary and began to tear it apart. Macbeth hurled it open, while Jezebel cast her ice spell again on the corridor and the stairs. That done, they entered, making sure the door was securely locked.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
Both Macbeth and Jezebel spun around, Jezebel whipping out her shotgun while Macbeth pulled a revolver from his coat. They scanned the area quickly before realising it was Demona, still strapped to the operating table. They relaxed. Then came the sound of the primary door being torn asunder, followed by the pounding of many feet, which was quickly turned to surprised screams and vicious swearing.  
  
Jezebel smiled.  
  
"It is I Demona."  
  
"Macbeth!" screamed the gargess.  
  
Macbeth marched past the table and stopped at a steel table protruding from the wall and selected a syringe full of poison, which he had prepared before heading out to destroy the third Malus Codicium. It contained a powerful poison, which would kill its victim with no pain whatsoever. Even though Demona probably deserved a more painful death for all the damage she had done, Macbeth wasn't about to experience that with her when he had other options available to him.  
  
The sound of heavy pounding came from the secondary door. They could hear the roars of their pursuers just outside. Macbeth quickly paced over to his ancient enemy while Jezebel watched the door as the steel began to buckle.  
  
"Macbeth, why are you doing this?" pleaded Demona.  
  
"This must end, tonight, before it's too late," came the reply, as Macbeth squirted a little of the poison from the syringe to test if the needle still worked.  
  
"What are you babbling about?"  
  
Before Macbeth could answer, the secondary door was wrenched from its hinges. Before the gargoyles could storm the room, Macbeth brought the syringe into Demona's arm and shot the poison into her. The azure gargess winced in pain as the needle plunged into her flesh, depositing its deadly contents into her bloodstream.  
  
"You're going to lose control again Demona," explained Macbeth, "I know you are looking the Codicium."  
  
Demona's eyes widened at the last part.  
  
"The Malus Codicium. You mean you didn't destroy it?"  
  
"It was too powerful for me."  
  
"YOU FOOL!" screamed the gargess, "I never wanted that damn thing back, I thought, I hoped, that you destroyed it!"  
  
Macbeth's eyes widened, "What do you mean."  
  
He never finished the sentence; he was suddenly enveloped by a wave of dizziness. He fell backwards onto his rear, his vision was becoming blurred, he felt very light headed, he was tired, so very tired. He could make out a lavender blur rush towards the table, screaming something.  
  
A billion miles away, someone called his name. He felt a sensation of movement and became aware that he was staring at the ceiling. He could just make out a figure lean over him; he couldn't identify whom it was, although he could see red and white in the blur.  
  
Red and White?  
  
Jezebel.  
  
He hoped they wouldn't hurt her; she was a good woman at heart. She and the lads were all good people.  
  
The lads.  
  
The three of them had been very brave tonight. Malibu and Fang especially, he hoped they would be all right, they didn't have the same protection Brooklyn had, they didn't have the spell.  
  
The Spell. That's not right, he had used the spell last.  
  
Which meant.  
  
-Oh my God!-  
  
The spell would only work as long as the caster was alive!  
  
Using every once of dwindling strength in his body, he forced himself to speak. Jezebel had to know, she had to warn Brooklyn.  
  
"Jezebel."  
  
He could see the figure lean much closer to his face, her features became clear.  
  
Jezebel for sure.  
  
"Spell.only good when caster alive."  
  
He could make out his old friend's eye ridges raise curiously, before her eyes widened, as she understood what he was trying to tell her.  
  
A second thought occurred to him. If Demona didn't want the Codicium, then why did he have that prophetic dream?  
  
Just then, something in the back of his mind clicked.  
  
He suddenly remembered what he had told Brooklyn about the book.  
  
"It's alive. It manipulates."  
  
He had to warn them, had to protect them.  
  
"Jezebel.you.you.must protect them.protect them from.from."  
  
The very last of his strength exhausted, Macbeth, the High King of Scotland, breathed his last and died.  
  
Jezebel shut her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to come. She wouldn't break down; not yet, she still had a job to do. She looked over at the table, a rather fat aquamarine gargoyle, Broadway, she believed, was comforting a young, lavender female who was sobbing on his shoulder.  
  
-Angela obviously.-  
  
The others, the dog-like creature, the tiger mutate, and the two clones, all looked very sullen aswell.  
  
She knew how they felt. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. She would never wish it on anyone she knew. She had killed in her time. But they were all evil people who richly deserved it.  
  
Perhaps Demona was going to go straight, perhaps not. This had been a necessity. She was looking for the Codicium. She could never be allowed to wield it again, never.  
  
She gave her king a kiss on the forehead, before finally rising. Macbeth had ordered her to protect their three helpers, and that was exactly what she intended to do.  
  
She heard someone approaching her; she turned to see the tiger mutate, Claw, staring angrily at her. She sent him flying across the room without a second thought.  
  
"I shall protect them!" she screamed, her eyes turning a burning shade of amber.  
  
"Deflagrate muri intervallia!"  
  
To the amazement of the grieving group of gargoyles, the old lady, whom had been helping Macbeth, disappeared in a ball of amber flames.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Brooklyn slid to the ground, clutching his chest and gritting his teeth. Goliath had woken up. He had gone straight after "Lance" and snapped the staff he had been using to keep Hudson and Burbank at bay like a twig. He would have shot him again but Hudson had knocked the stun gun out of his hand. He had made a run for the courtyard, in the hopes of evading Hudson, Burbank and the severely pissed Goliath by taking to the air.  
  
That had been a big mistake. Goliath was a lot faster on the ground than Brooklyn had given him credit for. No sooner had he actually reached the courtyard, Goliath had caught him, and proceeded to beat the living daylights out of him.  
  
Goliath had busted his nose, dislodged several teeth, and broken at least five of his ribs. He looked up weakly at the huge lavender gargoyle.  
  
-I wonder if he'll stop if I tell him who I really am?-  
  
He decided against it. Chances are, Goliath would pummel him even harder if he knew the truth. Goliath tended to only see red when he learned a clan member was going behind his back and doing something he knew the leader would definitely not approve of. Chances are, being an accomplice in a murder would probably be against Goliath's principals.  
  
Brooklyn dug his talons into the wall while trying to force his legs into getting into a standing position, halfway up his legs gave out and he fell forward onto his knees. It hurt to breathe, every time he inhaled, he felt like his chest would cave in on itself, it felt like his lungs were on fire. He could taste his own blood in his mouth. He bent over himself, clutching his ribs. He closed his eyes to fight back tears. It hurt so much it was unbearable. He wished and prayed Goliath would just stop.  
  
Suddenly, he felt very light headed. His stomach began to churn uncomfortably. A very odd feeling came over him. It was hard to describe. It was almost as if someone had taken a wet paintbrush and began to slap warm paint on him. His mouth felt really odd, he could feel it growing bigger, his lips began to retreat away from his face, heading out into the air, his bleeding nose following closely behind.  
  
He could hear gasps from his three assailants.  
  
His eyes flickered open to see what all the horrified gasping was about. He could see the end of his beak. Trembling, he brought his right hand in front of his face. It wasn't grey anymore. It was blood red.  
  
-Oh shit.-  
  
"Brooklyn?" rumbled Goliath; he appeared very shocked at this sudden revelation. His second-in-command looked up at him, he was more than a little afraid at this point of what Goliath would do to him.  
  
"Goliath," he said, pain and fear in his voice, "I.I can explain everything."  
  
Goliath however, didn't appear to be in the mood for any explanations. His face was contorted into a terrifying mask of rage, his eyes were glowing at an intensity Brooklyn had never seen before, or had even thought possible. He couldn't bring himself to look at Goliath. He was too afraid.  
  
"You.you did this!" thundered the lavender gargoyle. "You went behind my back to kill Demona!"  
  
"Goliath.I."  
  
"SILENCE!"  
  
Brooklyn cowered away from his leader. He could see Hudson several feet away. The old gargoyle was shaking his head. He looked very disappointed.  
  
Goliath grabbed him by the throat and held him up as if he weighed nothing.  
  
"You treacherous little BASTARD!" he howled, hurling Brooklyn across the courtyard.  
  
The crimson gargoyle landed hard on his back on the cobblestones. The back of his head connecting hard with a loose, and vertically pointing cobblestone, exploding Brooklyn into a white-hot eruption of electrified suffering.  
  
The pain, Brooklyn realised dismally, wasn't your average run of the mill collision injuries that would eventually disappear and leave no trace behind. This particular injury would probably result in intermittently crippling shooting pain that would periodically plague him for the rest of his natural life.  
  
-Look on the bright side,- he told himself. -The way Goliath's going, that won't be much longer.-  
  
A huge ball Amber flames suddenly appeared between Brooklyn and Goliath. When it dissipated, three figures stood in its place.  
  
Jezebel stood there, her body tensed, her pump-action shotgun pointed at Goliath, her back was to Brooklyn, so he couldn't see her glowing amber eyes, or the tears that were forming there. Along side her stood Malibu and Fang. They were facing him; they didn't look too good at all.  
  
Fang had his right arm drooped over Mal's shoulders; he was leaning heavily on him. His nose and mouth were bleeding and he appeared to be half conscious. Mal had cuts across his face and chest, his stun gun hung limply in his right hand while his left arm was wrapped around Fang's waist, helping him stand. Brooklyn could only guess what he looked like.  
  
Mal gently helped Fang on to his knees before kneeling beside Brooklyn.  
  
"Brooklyn! Can you hear me?"  
  
"He looks pretty bad Mal," mumbled Fang.  
  
"Ye.yes, I can hear you," whispered the red gargoyle.  
  
"Thank God," said the clone, relieved, he put his hand on his friend's forehead, "I was afraid we'd lost you there."  
  
There was the sound of more people charging into the courtyard. In an instant, Malibu was on his feet, pointing the stun gun at them.  
  
"Another step and I shoot!" he yelled, shooting the ground just in front of the mutates and gargoyles who had pursued them from the main hall to emphasise his point.  
  
"Where is Demona?" roared Goliath.  
  
"I've got her!" said Broadway sadly, stepping through the crowd. Demona lay in his arms, limp, and not breathing. "We were too late Goliath."  
  
The lavender gargoyle's hard expression softened for a moment as he took in the news of his former mate's demise. He threw his head back and howled at the night sky, a long, mourning howl. Tears forming in his eyes, he faced Brooklyn and the others who had had a hand in Demona's death. He snarled threateningly, his eyes glowing an intense white; he took a step towards the group.  
  
Jezebel aimed low and fired. The ground before Goliath exploded from the solid-core shell. Goliath jumped back and roared at the old lady.  
  
"You have what you came for," she said coldly. "Now get out!"  
  
"Brooklyn!" roared Goliath. "I banish now and forever from our clan! If you ever, ever show your face at the castle again I shall kill you myself! Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes Goliath."  
  
"The same goes for you two!" roared Talon, "Show up at the Labyrinth again and I'll skin you alive!"  
  
"Fuck you Derek!" screamed Malibu.  
  
Talon growled and stepped forward, but was forced back when Mal fired at the ground.  
  
Cautiously, all the gargoyles and mutates scaled the inner wall of the courtyard and flew away, bearing with them Goliath's fallen "Angel of the Night."  
  
Fang, Brooklyn, Malibu and Jezebel remained silent for quite some time before Jezebel sheathed her shotgun and walked over to Brooklyn to help him inside. She wasn't crying yet, but she knew she would eventually. Her tears could wait for a little while longer though, first, she would tend her new masters' wounds, only then, would she allow herself the time to weep for Macbeth.  
  
As the party stumbled back inside, all lost in their own thoughts, none noticed the three figures standing on the roof, watching them.  
  
"Your plan has failed sister," said Phoebe.  
  
"So it would appear," replied Selene.  
  
"What do we do now?" asked Luna.  
  
Phoebe considered this for a moment before answering, "We shall have to make an appeal to Lord Oberon to intervene."  
  
"Do you think he will allow us to bring back Demona and Macbeth sister?" asked Selene.  
  
"Not both of them sister," replied Phoebe, "However, we no longer need Macbeth, so we shall only appeal to return Demona to the mortal plain."  
  
"What of Anubis sister?" asked Luna.  
  
"If Oberon sides with us then he can do nothing but comply," said Selene.  
  
"Quite true sister," stated Phoebe.  
  
"Then let us go to Avalon and make our appeal," said Luna.  
  
That said the Wyrd Sisters vanished into thin air.  
  
To be continued.  
  
Bloody Hell but that took long to do! Anywho, the next part "Repercussions" should be out in a few days time. Again, comments, ideas etc welcome.  
  
Darkness 


	7. The Punishment

The Punishment  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
The Macbeth Estate  
  
Malibu stood before an oak door, a metal tray in his hands containing a few sandwiches and a bottle coke.  
  
"Brooklyn?" he called.  
  
"Go away!" came an angry cry from inside the room.  
  
"Please Brooklyn? Open up?"  
  
"Just leave me alone."  
  
The clone sighed sadly. It had been three days since Macbeth's funeral. Ever since then, Brooklyn had stayed in his room, refusing to come out at all, even for food. Goliath's banishment had hit him very hard. He had been brought up to believe that the clan was absolutely everything to a gargoyle. Without the clan, a gargoyle was nothing.  
  
"Brooklyn? Please? You can't stay in there forever."  
  
There was no reply. Perhaps he was reaching him.  
  
"Brooklyn?"  
  
Still no answer.  
  
"Brooklyn! Are you okay?" Mal yelled again, panic in his voice. He had a very horrible feeling form in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Brooklyn was obviously very depressed, but he would never do anything foolish, would he? Malibu didn't dare wait to find out. Setting the tray on a table, he tried the door. It was locked.  
  
"Open up now Brooklyn! Or I swear I'll kick it down!"  
  
There was still no answer.  
  
Bracing himself, the clone rammed himself against the door as hard as he could, he could hear the ancient nails holding the oak door in place begin to buckle and give way. He rammed it again and was rewarded when the door was knocked from its hinges. The very heavy oak door crashed to the ground as Malibu leapt into the room, silently praying Brooklyn hadn't done anything stupid.  
  
"Brooklyn! Where are you?!"  
  
Malibu ducked as an object flew towards him, almost connecting with his head. He heard it smash behind him and turned around to see what it was.  
  
It was a broken wine bottle.  
  
"Oh Brooklyn," sighed Mal, shaking his head.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Malibu turned to look in the room, it was hard to see anything, the curtains were closed and the light was off, he thought he could see his friend near his bed, his hand fumbled along the wall for a light switch, finding one, he flicked it on and gasped.  
  
The room was a total wreck. The mirror on the dressing table was smashed, the walls had deep claw marks in them, one of the two chairs in the room had been torn apart, the pillows on the bed had been completely shredded and as a result, the bed and floor were covered in feathers. Some books lay scattered around the floor as well. There were also almost a dozen empty wine bottles, most lay on the floor where Brooklyn had dropped them, while a couple of others sat on the dressing table.  
  
Brooklyn looked even worse than his room.  
  
His hazel eyes were bloodshot, the shirt he had worn to the funeral in human form was torn in the back where his wings had ripped through when he had changed himself back, it was ripped open at the front aswell, revealing his bandaged chest, even with the benefits of stone sleep, it would still take several more days or even a week for the injuries he had sustained at Goliath's talons to fully heal. He was hunched over, his arm outstretched and leaning heavily on the end of his bed for support, he looked like he had been crying for some time, a half empty wine bottle rested in his other hand.  
  
"What do you want?" he repeated coldly.  
  
Malibu winced; he could smell the stench of alcohol from his friend's breath even several feet away. He took a step towards his friend.  
  
"I want to help you," he answered truthfully. The red gargoyle was one of the few friends that he had, and it hurt to see him like this.  
  
"You want to help me?" replied Brooklyn sarcastically, "You really want to help me?"  
  
"Yes Brooklyn, I do."  
  
"THEN LEAVE ME ALONE!" roared the gargoyle, hurling the half empty wine bottle at the clone. Malibu saw it coming, it was a terrible shot, a simple testament to just how drunk Brooklyn was, he only had to move his head slightly to dodge it. The bottle smashed against the wall, spraying red wine across the dark red wallpaper.  
  
Malibu took a cautious step forward, his arms outstretched, palms open so as to look as unthreatening as possible.  
  
"Please Brooklyn. Let me help you."  
  
The red gargoyle roared and staggered forward, trying to connect a right hook. It was slow and poorly placed. Mal caught Brooklyn's hand by the wrist, doing the same with Brooklyn's left hand when he tried to strike him with it. The gargoyle started to struggle.  
  
"Let me go you fucking forgery!"  
  
Malibu's eyes flared at that. Roughly, he forced Brooklyn on to his bed, still holding the gargoyle's wrists, Malibu pinned him to the bed, he put his left knee on Brooklyn's injured chest, putting some of his weight on it, hoping the pain might snap Brooklyn out of his drunken state. The red gargoyle yelped at the pain, before struggling a little harder to get out of the clone's rock hard grip. After almost a minute of struggling, Brooklyn just gave up and went limp. Tears began to form at his eyes as he started crying miserably.  
  
Mal's anger at the insult died down instantly, he took his knee of Brooklyn's chest, ashamed that he'd hurt his friend. He let go of Brooklyn's wrists.  
  
"Brook.I'm sorry I hurt you," he said.  
  
"Don't worry about it," replied Brooklyn, covering his face with his hands as he sat up, he started crying harder. "What am I going to do Mal?"  
  
Malibu moved to sit up beside Brooklyn, putting his arm around his friend's shoulders to show him support.  
  
"Don't worry Brooklyn. Your not alone."  
  
"My clan hates me now. I am alone."  
  
"Nonsense," replied the clone, "You've got me haven't you?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"And Fang, and Jezebel?"  
  
"I.I guess so."  
  
"See?" asked Mal, squeezing his friend's shoulder, "Your not as alone as you thought huh?" Brooklyn had stopped crying and was looking at his friend now, Mal smiled back at him, "We're your clan now. This is our home now. It will take some getting used to of course, but that's to be expected." He gave his friend a cheerful look; Brooklyn couldn't help but smile back at him.  
  
"We're here for you Brook," said Mal, squeezing his friend's shoulder again, "We'll help you through this as best as we can, but you have to be willing to give us a chance."  
  
Brooklyn looked down at the ground between his feet, a slight smile lingering on his face.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"No problem buddy," said Mal cheerfully as he grabbed Brooklyn's arm and put it over his shoulders while he wrapped his right arm around his friend's waist.  
  
"What are you doing?" asked Brooklyn as Mal lifted him from the bed, his legs weren't very steady so he had to lean heavily on his clone for support.  
  
"I'm going to get you sobered up," replied Mal, "And then I'm going to get some food in you," he paused for a moment as he sniffed Brooklyn, "Of course, a few breath mints and a bath won't hurt either."  
  
Avalon  
  
Anubis, the Lord of Death, growled angrily at the Wyrd Sisters, who simply smiled back triumphantly back at him.  
  
Oh how he hated them at that moment. Somehow they had convinced Lord Oberon to order Anubis to release the soul of Demona Wyvern back to the land of the living.  
  
Bribery was probably involved somewhere. The sisters were renowned for their willingness to do anything to get what they wanted. Even thieving magical artefacts was not below them. In his own opinion, nothing was.  
  
"Well Anubis?" snapped Phoebe.  
  
"Are you going to bring back Demona or not?" asked Selene.  
  
Using all the self-control that he had to stop himself from giving the black haired bitch a fat lip, Lord Anubis answered her coldly.  
  
"I shall require her corpse and another person with which to transfer some of their life force to her."  
  
"Could this potentially kill the other person?" asked Luna, taking her turn to speak the sisters' minds. He hated it when they did that.  
  
"It would drastically reduce the amount of life the subject may have."  
  
"Hmm, that won't do," stated Phoebe, "We shall have to recast the immortal binding upon them both."  
  
"I gather then," ventured Anubis, "That you already have a candidate who will of course have no idea what's about to happen to him and will be totally unwilling to help you?"  
  
The Wyrd Sisters smiled cruelly at each other.  
  
"We have someone in mind," replied Selene.  
  
"Since Goliath didn't kill him, we might as well make him wish he did," said Luna sadistically.  
  
Anubis shook his head, already feeling sorry for the poor soul the Sisters had in mind.  
  
Three days later: A dance club in the Bronx  
  
The dance floor was a field of bodies, sweating from the exertion of their chaotic movements in time to the ridiculously loud music. Not far off from the chaos that was the dance floor, two young men sat in a booth. They were obviously twins, as they both long had white hair tied back in ponytails, they were both quite handsome by human standards; both were tall and quite thin, although there were some slight differences between them. One was slightly paler than the other, suggesting he didn't see the sun that much, he had grey eyes and was dressed in blue jeans, a red T-shirt, black boots and a black leather bomber jacket. His brother's skin was a slight shade more tanned, he had hazel eyes and was completely clad in black boots, chinos, a long sleeve shirt, and a long black leather coat that reached his ankles, although this was currently rolled up on the floor. He looked a little depressed.  
  
"Oh come on Brook," pleaded Mal, "Go out and enjoy yourself!"  
  
Brooklyn looked back at the clone, "Its.not really my kind of music Mal. I think I'll sit this one out."  
  
"You have been sitting them out all night," replied the clone dryly. He pointed out to the dance floor. "Him, on the other hand hasn't sat down in almost an hour."  
  
Brooklyn looked out to the dance floor to where his friend pointed to where a man was dancing with half a dozen girls. He was in his early thirties, he had rugged look about him, which the girls seem to find very attractive. He had short, untidy chestnut coloured hair and emerald coloured eyes. He was a little over six feet tall and was very well built. He wore black jeans, a dark green turtleneck, black hiking boots and a black leather bomber jacket similar to Mal's. Brooklyn shook his head.  
  
"I still can't believe his real name's Peter," he said.  
  
"Me neither," replied Malibu, looking out at Fang, "He never really grabbed me as a "Peter" person."  
  
"Peter" had now added another girl to his dance party, making a total of seven very good-looking girls dancing around him.  
  
"How does he do it?" asked Brooklyn.  
  
"Animal magnetism.I think," replied Mal.  
  
"No.I mean how the Hell has he managed to keep dancing for almost a solid hour?"  
  
"The electricity glands in his body," replied Mal, "they provide him with energy to shoot out of his hands. It obviously has other uses as well."  
  
Fang stopped dancing, said something to his party of whom all nodded and dispersed while he strode up triumphantly to the booth that held his two friends.  
  
"I still got it!" he yelled over the music.  
  
"Well whatever it is can we have some of it?" replied Mal laughing, Fang joined in as Brooklyn shuffled over to let him sit.  
  
"So Brook, how ya feeling?" asked Fang as he sat.  
  
"I do wish you two would stop asking me how I am," replied the gargoyle turned human. He smiled at them, "I'm okay, it's just I feel like I should be out patrolling rather than sitting here at a dance club."  
  
"Okay then," said Mal as he slid out of the booth and stood up, "What are we waiting for?" Brooklyn and Fang regarded dumbly.  
  
"What?" asked Fang eventually.  
  
"Lets go out patrolling," replied Mal.  
  
"And what if Goliath sees us?" replied Brooklyn.  
  
"Hey, they protect Manhattan don't they?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then all we have to do is patrol somewhere else," explained Mal, "Manhattan not the only part of New York you know."  
  
"Mal, I appreciate what your trying to do," said Brooklyn, "But patrolling can be very dangerous."  
  
"So? We'll all look out for each other, won't we?"  
  
"Why not?" said Fang, standing up again, "I always wanted to play the hero."  
  
They both turned and looked at Brooklyn who had not moved from where he sat.  
  
"Come on Brooklyn," said Fang, smiling, "You know you want to."  
  
Brooklyn looked from Fang to Malibu and back again. Both were smiling pleasantly at him.  
  
"You two don't have to do this just to make me feel better you know," he pleaded.  
  
"We know," replied Fang.  
  
"But we want to," said Mal.  
  
Brooklyn shook his head while smiling for the first time that night.  
  
"Okay, okay." He said as he grabbed his coat, "I'm coming."  
  
  
  
Half an hour later  
  
The trio glided across the Bronx, eyes firmly on the ground, looking for any trouble. They had left their coats in the car Fang had taken them clubbing in before finding a private place for Brooklyn to caste the transformation spell, he had become so adept at it, he no longer needed the Tome of Lesser Magic.  
  
"Is it usually this slow?" asked Fang.  
  
"Sometimes," replied Brooklyn, smiling back at both Fang and Mal. He felt better already. This was just what he needed. He was feeling down because he felt useless. Without the clan he had been told time and time again, he was nothing. Thanks to Fang and Mal, he was starting to see just how daft an idea that was. He.  
  
He suddenly felt very tired. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. He.  
  
Brooklyn drifted into unconsciousness in an instant. His wings went slack suddenly and he started falling.  
  
"Brooklyn!" screamed Fang, making a mad dive for the red gargoyle as he plummeted to the ground, he wrapped his arms around Brooklyn's waist and pulled up.  
  
"Brooklyn! Say something!"  
  
The gargoyle hung limp in his arms.  
  
"We have to find a place to land!" yelled Fang, "Something's really wrong here!"  
  
"There!" yelled Mal, pointing to a nearby roof.  
  
The pair landed and Fang gently laid Brooklyn on his back. The mutate checked Brooklyn's pulse and heart rate.  
  
"Is he okay?" asked Mal as he kneeled beside his friend.  
  
Fang looked up at him, "He fell asleep," he said, clearly astonished.  
  
"How the Hell do you fall asleep in mid-air?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"We do," said three voices in unison.  
  
Fang and Mal rose quickly, turning to where the voices had come from. Three incredibly beautiful women stood before the pair. All looked and dressed exactly alike, wearing black pants, hooker boots, vests and leather jackets. The only thing that told them apart was the colour of their hair. One's was raven black, another's was golden blonde while the last's was platinum white.  
  
"Who the Hell are you?" growled Mal.  
  
"We are the Wyrd Sisters," replied Selene.  
  
"The same chicks that binded Macbeth and Demona together?" asked Fang, remembering back to when Macbeth explained to him why he would die along with Demona.  
  
"The same," replied Phoebe.  
  
"What do you want?" yelled Malibu, losing his patience these women already.  
  
"Him," replied Luna, pointing past the clone and mutate to the unconscious Brooklyn behind them.  
  
Mal's eyes flared while Fang's fists began to glow with electrical energy.  
  
"You'll have to go through us first!" roared the mutate. The Sisters looked unimpressed.  
  
"If you insist," replied Selene. She raised her arms and fired a bolt of magic from them. The blast hit Fang full force in the chest, sending the mutate flying across the roof and crashing to the ground unconscious.  
  
Mal's jaw dropped open at the sight of his friend being taken out so easily. He turned to the Wyrd Sisters, who were ignoring him as they strode up to Brooklyn. Eyes flaring again, he hurled himself at Phoebe.  
  
The Fey looked startled as Mal brought her to the ground. Not waiting for her to react, Mal gave her a hard right cross in the face. His attack didn't appear to do much other than enrage Phoebe who grabbed the clone by the throat and kneed him as hard as she could in the crotch.  
  
Mal's eyes bulged and he howled in agony just in time to have his scream violently cut-off when Phoebe squeezed his neck. As the clone struggled to break her grip, Phoebe released her own right hand and gave Mal a solid punch in his rather large nose. The gargoyle's head shot back from the force of the punch before he slumped forward on top of her, unconscious.  
  
With complete disgust, Phoebe hurled the clone aside and stood up, a look of rage on her face. She began to kick Malibu in the ribs while her sisters looked on, rather amused by such an odd sight.  
  
After she was convinced that she had broken at least half of the offending gargoyle's ribs, Phoebe turned to her sisters while fixing her disordered hair.  
  
"Well met sister," said Luna.  
  
"Crude, but entertaining," said Selene.  
  
Phoebe gave them both a look before kicking Malibu one last time and walking over to Brooklyn. Luna and Selene followed close behind. The Sisters surrounded the prone gargoyle and silently transported him and themselves to Avalon.  
  
Avalon: roughly an hour later  
  
Brooklyn began to stir slowly, his eyelids lifted slightly as he tried to figure out where he was and why he had suddenly nodded off. He was on a stone floor, he tried to move his arms but found to his dismay that they were securely tied behind his back with very strong chains. With great difficulty, he managed to prop himself up and began to take in his surroundings. He was in a huge hall that reminded him of Wyvern in size but nothing else, it wasn't decorated at all other than fire lamps, which hung along the walls and a huge tapestry depicting a man with blue skin hovering above a battlefield littered with an awful lot of dead bodies.  
  
"It is good to see you have decided to join us gargoyle," came a powerful, imperious voice from behind him. Brooklyn managed to slide around to see who addressed him. His jaw dropped open in horror.  
  
Sitting on a throne not twenty yards from him, sat Oberon, Lord of Avalon and king of the Third Race. Standing close to him was a man in ancient Egyptian style clothes and a jackal head. He looked just like a picture of Anubis, the Egyptian god of the Dead Brooklyn had seen in a book about Egypt he had read. He had a very sick feeling in his stomach that this guy was the same person.  
  
"So, this is the one who interfered with the Wyrd Sisters' playthings," stated the blue skinned king as he regarded Brooklyn in an almost bored manner, "You are not very impressive are you?"  
  
Against all the rules of common sense, Brooklyn felt anger welling up inside him. How dare he, this blue skinned, arrogant, aristocratic prick kidnap him so he could talk about how unimpressive he was?  
  
Oberon saw the anger building up in Brooklyn's eyes and smiled mockingly at him.  
  
"What's the matter gargoyle? Are you angry about something?"  
  
"You can't do this," replied Brooklyn coldly.  
  
"Really?" asked Oberon, obviously amused at Brooklyn's growing anger, "And why not gargoyle?"  
  
"You have a compact with my clan."  
  
"It is true, We do have a compact with Goliath's clan. But as We are informed, you are no longer part of it."  
  
Brooklyn's eyes flared dangerously as he forced himself to stand, he still felt a little groggy but he wasn't going to let that arrogant bastard see it.  
  
"You also have rules against direct interference you bastard!"  
  
The smile on Oberon's face vanished. He rose from the throne slowly, his face barely masking the rage he felt for this nothing of a creature that dared to speak back at him.  
  
"Now you listen to me you pitiful little insect," he said coldly as he approached the red gargoyle, "As far as We are concerned, there are no rules that constrain our actions, merely guidelines which We can choose to follow or ignore as we please." He stopped several feet from the defiant gargoyle and looked deep into his hazel eyes. What he saw there was fear masked by an intense hatred that threatened to erupt if pushed far enough.  
  
-Perhaps not the best choice for this kind of procedure- he thought to himself -But it will not concern Us what he does after it is over. He cannot hurt Us. So We might as well continue.-  
  
The gargoyle met Oberon's stare head on. He'd be damned if he was going to bow down to this arrogant shit.  
  
"What do you want with me?" asked Brooklyn, the anger in his own voice not concealed at all while the little voice in the back of his head that was his common sense was screaming at him to shut up and get on his knees.  
  
Oberon was a little impressed. This gargoyle was almost as stubborn as Goliath was! And definitely a lot less sane as he was willing to try and outstare the most powerful being on the planet! It would be most amusing to watch his reaction to his punishment.  
  
"You have committed a crime against the Fey," he replied.  
  
"What crime?"  
  
"You assisted in the murder of Demona Wyvern," replied Oberon.  
  
"So? She was evil! She got what was coming to her!" roared Brooklyn.  
  
Oberon punched him in the stomach. The gargoyle doubled over in pain before falling to his knees gasping for breath. Oberon had knocked all the air out of him.  
  
"Never raise your voice to the King of Avalon," stated Oberon as he turned his back on the severely winded gargoyle and headed back to his throne.  
  
Brooklyn looked up at Oberon as he turned his back on him. He was fighting tears, his damaged chest hadn't fully healed yet and it hurt like Hell to suddenly put so much pressure on it by taking deep breaths to fill his lungs with air again. He snarled impotently. There was nothing he could do to get revenge on Oberon yet. The man was just too powerful. But he would find a way he silently vowed to himself. Everyone had weaknesses; all he had to do was find one of Oberon's so he could exploit it.  
  
"Are you listening to me gargoyle?"  
  
The voice snapped Brooklyn out of his thoughts for revenge as he looked up to see what Oberon was talking about.  
  
"No. I wasn't listening. But I am now my Lord," he replied sarcastically.  
  
Oberon let that one go, knowing the gargoyle was going to get his very soon now.  
  
"We said that you have been found guilty and will now be punished for your actions."  
  
The gargoyle didn't look so angry then, it was obvious he was trying not to show his fear though Oberon could tell from the look in his eyes that he was afraid of what might be done to him. Fear pleased Oberon.  
  
"What are you going to do?" asked Brooklyn, trying to remain calm while at the same time trying to ignore the sudden acceleration in his heart rate.  
  
"We have decided that your punishment should be that you be binded in immortality another."  
  
Brooklyn's eyes bulged. Immortality? The same deal Macbeth and Demona had to go through? This didn't bode well at all. Demona had been driven mad while Macbeth had become obsessed with dying. His mouth trembled as he asked the next question.  
  
"With who?"  
  
"Her," said Oberon as he smiled cruelly and pointed to something above Brooklyn. The gargoyle looked up and screamed.  
  
Above him floated a corpse. Demona's corpse. As Brooklyn screamed, the body ceased to float in the air, instead giving into gravity and falling ten feet before landing on top of the terrified gargoyle.  
  
He shivered from the ice-cold feel of her skin as it rubbed against his face as he tried desperately to force her body off of him. He screamed again. This had to be some kind of horrible nightmare, it just had to be, and he would wake up any second now. But he didn't. After almost a minute of panic and kicking, Brooklyn had managed to force Demona's body off his and had kicked it several feet from him. He hyperventilating, all the while his chest ached from the exertion and his eyes threatened to start shedding tears. This was too much for him. He wanted to go home.  
  
He heard cruel laughter coming from Oberon; he turned to look at him. The Lord of Avalon was seated on his throne again, a nasty smile on his face as he watched the gargoyle turn from defiant to terrified.  
  
-He will pay for this,- vowed Brooklyn silently, -I swear he will pay dearly for this.-  
  
"And now Lord Anubis," said Oberon, turning to the jackal headed figure, "Restore the soul of Demona Wyvern to her body and grant her some of the life force of Brooklyn Wyvern. So that both may live."  
  
"Forgive me my friend," said the Jackal god as he raised his arms, "I have no choice in this matter." That said, he began to chant in a language the gargoyle didn't recognise.  
  
Brooklyn suddenly felt very light-headed; he could feel his strength deserting him as Anubis continued his chanting. He fell down on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He had never felt so weak in his entire life. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy; it felt like he was going to nod off any moment.  
  
Using all the strength he could muster, Brooklyn forced himself to stay awake, he had to see what they were going to do to him and how. He turned his head to look at Demona's body and swore viciously at what he saw.  
  
Demona was breathing again. Slow, rhythmic breaths as if she was asleep. His eyes flared weakly.  
  
Macbeth's sacrifice had been for nothing. The suffering and banishment he to endure had all been for nothing.  
  
Oberon would pay for this.  
  
Anubis finished his chant and lowered his arms.  
  
"It is done my Lord."  
  
"Very good Anubis," said Oberon as he rose, "Your presence is no longer required. Leave."  
  
Anubis bowed his head and vanished.  
  
"And now gargoyle," said Oberon, raising his right hand towards Brooklyn and Demona, "Your punishment."  
  
Brooklyn and Demona levitated in the air until they were in vertical positions with their backs to one another. Demona didn't struggle or resist because she was unconscious, while Brooklyn was too weak to attempt anything.  
  
"The Lord of Avalon himself decrees that both shall live eternally. Sharing each other's pain and suffering. Neither of you shall ever die until one doth kill the other, whereby both your lives are forfeit. So speaks Oberon."  
  
A blinding light raced from Oberon's palm and engulfed the two gargoyles. Brooklyn tried to struggle to break his chains and escape but it was a futile jesture, if he couldn't break them at his full strength, what hope did he have when he was weakened?  
  
As quickly as the light appeared, it vanished again and both gargoyles slumped to the floor.  
  
"My children!" called Oberon, satisfied at his judgement, "Take these two and deposit them wherever you see fit."  
  
"Yes my Lord," replied three feminine voices. Brooklyn forced his eyes open to see who was speaking to Oberon. Before his prone body stood the Wyrd Sisters, all were wearing very smug looks.  
  
"I'll get you for this." whispered Brooklyn, before darkness claimed him.  
  
  
  
The Macbeth Estate  
  
"Hey! He's waking up!" called a voice in the darkness.  
  
Slowly, Brooklyn opened his eyes to see who was going to torment him now. He could make out three figures gathered around him but they were still a little blurred.  
  
As his gaze gradually came into focus he realised that was no longer on Avalon, but back at the estate! He lying in his bed with Jezebel, Fang and Malibu gathered around him.  
  
"Hey buddy," said Mal, sounding very relieved, "You scared the crap out of us."  
  
"Sorry," replied Brooklyn weakly, "What happened?"  
  
"These three strange chicks put you to sleep, kicked the crap out of me and Mal here and took off with you," replied Fang. "Then we found you lying in here the next day after we came back from searching for you."  
  
"How long have I been asleep?"  
  
"About a week," replied Jezebel, smiling kindly as she put her hand on his fore head to check his temperature, "You had a mild fever and were a little delirious for the first few hours but you recovered very quickly," she explained.  
  
"Yeah," said Malibu, patting Brooklyn on the chest, "Your ribs weren't even bruised at all when we found you. Why do think that is?"  
  
"Demona's alive," answered Brooklyn as he propped himself into a sitting position.  
  
His three friends stared at him, shocked at this bit of news.  
  
"What do you mean she's alive?" asked Fang and the others almost simultaneously. Brooklyn explained everything.  
  
Castle Wyvern: One Month later  
  
The clan had gathered in the main hall for Goliath's announcement. Everyone was there, both gargoyle and human members of the clan. Everyone already knew or suspected what this was about. It had to do with Demona.  
  
Five weeks ago she had been found in the courtyard, alive, very weak, but alive none the less. The clan had taken her in and cared for her, overjoyed that she was alive again. She had no clue why she was alive. She thought she being given a second chance by the almighty, and worked extra hard to earn the clan's trust again.  
  
After she had recovered, she apologised to the entire clan and swore never to try and destroy humanity; instead she would protect it, as true gargoyles were supposed to.  
  
It had been hard, but over the few weeks after her recovery, Demona helped the clan, giving funds to the P.I.T and other pro-tolerance groups, as well as merging Night Stone Ltd with Xanatos Enterprises to become one of the richest and most powerful companies on the planet.  
  
She'd also started patrolling with the clan again, and had risked her life to save Broadway and Lexington from a group of Quarrymen.  
  
Tonight, they all knew, was the night.  
  
"As you all know," said Goliath to the assembled party, "I have been considering a replacement as my second in command after Brooklyn's treachery. I have finally made my decision."  
  
The crowd awaited the announcement as a tense atmosphere arose. Would their suspicions be confirmed?  
  
"Demona Wyvern!" boomed the lavender gargoyle.  
  
The crowd parted, and Demona approached Goliath, she appeared visibly nervous.  
  
"Yes Goliath?"  
  
"Over the past month, you have proven yourself time and time again that you have finally reformed your ways and can be trusted by this clan again."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I now offer you your place back with us in the clan. And to take my side as the second in command of this clan again. Will you accept?"  
  
Demona remained silent for almost a minute, and then tears of joy began to form in her eyes.  
  
"I accept."  
  
There was a cheer from all sides as Goliath approached Demona and took her hand in a warrior's grasp.  
  
"Welcome back. My Angel of."  
  
The image ended abruptly as a blood red fist crashed through the mirror and cracked the wall behind it with the force of the impact.  
  
Tears streaking down his face, Brooklyn slammed the tome he had been using shut, threw his head back, and screamed in rage and misery.  
  
"IT'S NOT RIGHT! IT'S NOT FAIR!" he screamed to the heavens, which, typically, did not respond.  
  
"It's not fair," he repeated, folding his arms over the tome and resting his head there as he began to cry like a hatchling.  
  
Demona had killed who knows how many over the years, and Goliath had just welcomed her back and given her his position. He hadn't even killed her; he'd just beaten the living daylights out of her. And he was banished for it!  
  
Where was the justice in that?  
  
Oberon, the Wyrd Sisters and Demona had all ruined his life and he was powerless take his revenge. He stopped crying suddenly as a thought occurred to him.  
  
No. He wasn't entirely powerless. But could he?  
  
No. Unthinkable. Unthinkable.  
  
He stood up as he started to wonder at what Macbeth had told him.  
  
It's alive.  
  
He snorted at that. Ridiculous. A book is an inanimate object; it cannot live nor hold any form of calculating intelligence. He had, if Macbeth was correct, one of the most powerful magical artefacts in history locked away in a secret room that only he had access to.  
  
And he wasn't using it to get revenge on all those who had hurt him.  
  
But then again, what if Macbeth was right, what if it was alive? What if it was evil?  
  
"There's only one way to find out," he said to himself as he left his room and headed downstairs.  
  
Half an hour later, Brooklyn was standing in the room, which contained the dreaded Malus Codicium. He had bypassed the thirteen titanium doors and the half dozen other security emplacements that kept the curious away using the codes Macbeth had entrusted him with. All he needed to do now was open the iron safe.  
  
He felt a nagging at the back of his head. He wasn't so sure about this anymore.  
  
-What if Macbeth's right? What if it is pure evil? What if by opening the safe I'll be destroyed?-  
  
He shook these thoughts off. He had come this far, he would not walk away now like some frightened child. He strode over to the safe and entered the last code he needed to take a look at a book that the Prince of Darkness supposedly wrote himself.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Brooklyn opened the safe's door. He was actually a little disappointed when nothing noticeably evil happened, no tentacles of infinite darkness, no creepy noises like wolves howling or something similar, the atmosphere didn't even change in any way.  
  
"Alive my ass," he muttered as he stuck his hand in and took out the only item in the safe and inspected it. It was a small leather bound book, a little thicker than his own wrist, with the words "Malus Codicium" imprinted in gold on the front.  
  
When he went to open it, a handful of pages in the back fell out and landed on the floor. Brooklyn stooped to pick them up and placed them in one of his pockets absentmindedly.  
  
That done, he randomly picked a page, chuckling to himself for acting like a little hatchling and being afraid of the big bad book.  
  
The very thought that a book could be alive and be tainted was totally preposterous!  
  
He looked at the title of the page he had randomly opened. It was entitled "On the Daemon."  
  
Without truly realising what he was doing, Brooklyn began reading.  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
Not as well written as some parts of the series I'm afraid but I haven't been feeling a hundred percent the last few days. Big thanks to Storyseeker for giving me the idea for this episode as well as to Caboose and anyone else who for one reason or the other, seems to like my work. I shall try my best to get the next instalment out as soon as possible. Until then, all suggestions and comments are greatly welcome. You all know my address!  
  
The Emperor Protects!  
  
Darkness 


	8. The Anointed One

The Anointed One  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
A Catholic Chapel several miles from New York  
  
Jezebel Tibbs exited the Chapel with the rest of her congregation as the bells tolled, signalling the end of the Mass. Nodding in a friendly manner to some of her parish, she made her way to the cemetery. She walked for several minutes along the rows of tombstones before coming to the one she was looking for. It was made of black marble and had a cross on the top. Emblazoned in golden letters were the words:  
  
Here lies Lennox Connor Mac Duff Beloved humanitarian and teacher 1943-1999 May he rest in peace forever  
  
She sighed deeply.  
  
He had died in vain. Demona was alive again, binded in immortality to Brooklyn by the will of the King of the Third Race. When Brooklyn had revealed this to her, she had went to her room and cried for several hours in private. She had loved him, and he her back, but they never expressed it to each other, it would be impossible for them to. Macbeth had been immortal, he watched far too many people that he cared about grow old and die before him. She would never have put him through that. So they had remained close on a professional level.  
  
She stood before the grave of her dear friend, rosary beads in hand, as she prayed for his immortal soul. When she was done, she walked over to a nearby bench and sat herself down.  
  
She looked around at the cemetery and smiled serenely to herself. This was one of her favourite places in the world. It was so peaceful here that she almost forgot all the problems in the world, all the hypocrisy, bigotry, hatred, wars, all were non-existent here. There was only peace. The only sounds were those of the birds and the occasional rustle of the leaves as the wind blew through numerous trees that sat around the cemetery walls.  
  
"Mind if I join you?"  
  
Jezebel turned her head and smiled.  
  
"Of course Brooklyn," she replied, shuffling over to give him room. Brooklyn smiled at her, before sitting down. He was in human form, wearing a black pair of slacks, a midnight blue shirt, black boots and his black leather coat that fell to his ankles. His long white hair was tied back in a ponytail.  
  
"This place is beautiful," he said as he leaned back on the old bench and regarded the rows of white or black tombstones, "It's so peaceful."  
  
"I come here to think sometimes," replied Jezebel, as she carefully looked him over. He looked a little uncomfortable about something. Several minutes of silence elapsed between them, each lost in their own thoughts.  
  
"I didn't see you in the chapel," remarked Jezebel, hoping to coax something out of the young gargoyle turned human.  
  
"I.I'm not very religious."  
  
"I see."  
  
Several more minutes of rather uncomfortable silence elapsed between Jezebel and Brooklyn before Jezebel tried again.  
  
"Are you here to pay respects to Macbeth then?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"There something on your mind then?"  
  
"More like my soul."  
  
"Ah, you mean the Codicium."  
  
Brooklyn turned to face her, his eyes wide in shock, "You.you knew?"  
  
"Of course I knew. I'm a witch," replied Jezebel patiently, "I could sense the very moment you touched it three weeks ago."  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
Brooklyn's head sunk in shame, "I.I didn't know how you'd react."  
  
"You assumed I'd be angry didn't you?"  
  
Brooklyn turned his head to her, "Are you?"  
  
"Just a little," replied Jezebel, standing up, "I'd appreciate it if you could just trust me more."  
  
"I'm sorry Jezebel."  
  
"That's alright.what's it like?"  
  
Brooklyn looked up at her, a little surprised at the witch's curiosity, "The Codicium?"  
  
"Yes. I don't even know what it looks like."  
  
"Would you like to see it Jezebel?" asked Brooklyn, rising from the bench.  
  
"You carry it with you?"  
  
"Um.yeah, it sort of makes me feel better," replied Brooklyn as he fumbled in his leather coat, after a few seconds, he pulled out a small, black leather bound book, a little thicker than his wrist. He handed it to Jezebel, who took it and examined the cover, but didn't open it. After barely thirty seconds of looking at the cover, she handed it back.  
  
"You know if I were you Brooklyn. I'd destroy it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I can sense it's evil."  
  
"Don't tell me you think it's alive aswell."  
  
"Maybe not in the way you and I would define life. But there is a consciousness there of some form. When you grow a little stronger with your own magic, you'll feel it too."  
  
Brooklyn looked at the book, which had caused all the trouble in his life in recent months. His face, hardened in determination.  
  
"I will destroy it Jezebel. But only after I have used it to complete one task."  
  
"To destroy Oberon?"  
  
"Yes. It was he who made Macbeth's sacrifice in vain. He deserves to die for what he did."  
  
"I agree."  
  
Brooklyn looked at her, eyes widened, "You do?"  
  
"I agree Oberon has to be punished," replied Jezebel carefully, "However, do you think you can handle that book's power?"  
  
"Yes," he replied instantly.  
  
"So sure? Demona couldn't handle it."  
  
"She was evil. And insane," replied Brooklyn.  
  
"Yes. And you are not?"  
  
Brooklyn stared at her in total shock, "Of course I'm not evil! How can you even ask that?"  
  
Jezebel smiled kindly at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I know deep down that you are good Brooklyn. But I can see so much anger and pain in your eyes that I fear for your soul. If the three of us had not been there for you when you were banished. You would have lost control. Who knows what you would have done in time." She placed her other hand on his other shoulder and looked deeply into his hazel eyes.  
  
"If you know, not think mind you, but know that you can handle the book's evil. If you know that you will use it only to punish Oberon. If you can tell me to my face that it will not manipulate the anger in your heart, and that you will destroy it after you are done. Then I shall help you to the best of my ability."  
  
"I swear to you Jezebel. I will punish Oberon, I will avenge Macbeth and myself, and then I will destroy this book," replied Brooklyn, never breaking eye contact with her. For a brief moment, she felt an odd feeling come over her.  
  
"Then I shall follow you Brooklyn. I will help and protect you to the best of my ability," said Jezebel solemnly, "What do you need?"  
  
"I need you to find an engineer or weapons smith who won't ask questions," replied Brooklyn, "If I'm going to take on Oberon, I'm going to need a staff to amplify the book's power, and a very special type of sword if I'm going to kill him. I will give you the specifications later on after I figure out the proper runes that have to be placed on them."  
  
"Runes? What type?"  
  
Brooklyn smiled, "Daemonic."  
  
"You mean you can read the book?" asked Jezebel.  
  
"Yes. It's in Latin you see, a very old form of the language but I can understand almost all of it."  
  
"When did you learn Latin?"  
  
"I taught myself a few years before the massacre," Brooklyn explained, "I was hoping to become the Magus' apprentice. But when I asked he just laughed in my face and said my kind couldn't be trusted with magic." His eyes filled with bitter hatred for the briefest of moments, but Jezebel noticed none the less.  
  
She felt sorry for him. He was more like Demona in some ways than he realised.  
  
"When will you need the sword and staff?" she asked, returning to business.  
  
"I want them ready for when we head out for Vienna," answered Brooklyn.  
  
"Vienna?"  
  
"Yes. I want you to book us tickets to Vienna for about a month from now," explained Brooklyn, "It will take me that long to fully understand how to properly conduct the ceremony."  
  
"Ceremony?"  
  
Brooklyn gave her a wry smile, "I need to know all of Oberon's weaknesses. That will require wrenching the information out of somewhere, or someone. Oberon's bound to have sent someone to Hell that knew his weaknesses and tried to exploit them. All I have to do is offer them the chance to see him destroyed."  
  
"Your planning to steal the rod aren't you?"  
  
"Yes. I tried to find out how much the museum would be willing to accept to part with it but the curator was adamant that it was not for sale."  
  
"Very well," said Jezebel, a little bemused that she would have a part to play in a robbery, "What are you doing now?"  
  
"I'm going back to the estate on my Harley," replied Brooklyn, "I'm going to be very busy with some of the passages in the book I need to translate into English to understand better. I'll see you later tonight Jezebel." With that he turned and left the cemetery.  
  
Jezebel watched him go. She was concerned for him, for his soul. If he couldn't handle that book, then he ran the risk of damnation. She knew that if he could just control his anger, he'd be fine; the book wouldn't contaminate him then. She headed back for the chapel to offer a rosary for her young master, hoping she was doing the right thing by helping him.  
  
Vienna, Austria: One month later  
  
The Vienna "Museum of the Medieval" was an enormous building, being three storeys tall and a block wide with magnificent pillars all along the front wall. Within it lay over two thousand historical artefacts, some relating as far back as the eleven hundreds.  
  
On the other side of the street of this magnificent building, was a small café. There wasn't anything remarkable about it, which made it stand out from other hundred plus cafés that seem to litter most major cities on the European continent, or for that matter, any city. About a dozen designer circular steel tables sat outside the café with similarly designed chairs placed at them. Around one of these tables, sat four people.  
  
There were two young men, obviously twins. Each having long white hair, both tied back in ponytails, and both were quite handsome, tall and fairly well built. That was were the similarities ended. One was slightly paler than the other and had grey eyes. He wore a dazzlingly bright red short sleeve shirt, blue jeans, black shoes and a black leather bomber jacket.  
  
The other twin, who's skin was slight shade darker, had hazel eyes, which were currently being covered by a trendy pair of black sunglasses, despite the fact that the sky was quite cloudy and dark, meaning rain was imminent. He wore a long sleeve black shirt, black chinos, black shoes, and a black leather coat, which fell to his ankles.  
  
Another man also sat with them. He was tall and very well built; he had short, untidy chestnut brown hair and emerald green eyes. He wore a pair of sand coloured trousers, a black T-shirt, black shoes, and a blue denim jacket.  
  
The fourth and final member of this group was a sweet little old lady. She looked like the two younger men's' grandmother. She had a kind face and short, neat white hair She wore a white blouse with frills, a dark green dress, a pair of sensible black shoes and a red woollen coat which came down to her ankles.  
  
A waiter came over to them carrying a tray containing a café mocha deluxe, a black coffee, a glass of red wine, and a banana split. After serving the refreshments, the waiter waited for a tip until the young man in black tipped his shades and looked the man right in the face. The waiter suddenly remembered something extremely important he had to do on the other side of town and headed off as quickly as he could.  
  
"I love doing that," said Brooklyn as he sipped his mocha.  
  
"You're such a God damn poser Brook," said Mal as he dug into his ice cream.  
  
Brook put down his coffee and smiled back at his clone, "Couldn't help myself. Sorry."  
  
"We don't need to attract unnecessary attention," snapped Fang as he sipped his coffee. "So just quit making your eyes glow."  
  
"Spoilsport," muttered Brooklyn.  
  
"At least he doesn't look like he fell out of "The Matrix," retorted Mal, giggling. "Just why the Hell are you wearing so much black anyway?"  
  
"I like black. It looks good on me."  
  
"Black looks good on anyone," said Fang. "And no offence Mal. But you kinda stand out like a sore thumb as well. Could you perhaps have picked a brighter coloured shirt?" he added sarcastically.  
  
Mal ignored him, returning to his ice cream while Jezebel shook her head. "Would the three of you please just grow up?" she said. She turned to Brooklyn. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"  
  
"I haven't spent all this time plotting revenge to back out now Jezebel," replied the gargoyle turned human as he adjusted his shades.  
  
"Are you sure you can trust the book's information?" asked Fang, "Some of the info in it might be inaccurate or obsolete by now."  
  
"All that I have been told is totally accurate," replied Brooklyn as he finished his mocha. He looked up to see his three companions staring at him. "What?"  
  
"You just said from what you were told," answered Mal, "I thought the Codicium was a book?"  
  
"It is," replied Brooklyn quickly, mentally slapping himself, "I meant from what I learned the information is totally accurate. What I seek is in that museum."  
  
"You mean the "Rod of Control?" asked Jezebel, her face unreadable.  
  
Brooklyn smiled nervously at her, before calling a different waiter over to order another mocha while his friends gave each other worried glances.  
  
Two-0-clock in the morning  
  
The streets of Vienna were totally deserted apart from some of the homeless, hard core partiers coming home drunk or a little drugged up, and of course the ladies and gentlemen of ill repute who serviced men and women's' secret needs in the red light district.  
  
Which meant that although there was a minimal chance of being spotted, Brooklyn, Fang and Malibu took no chances, gliding high above the streetlights, making false turns every now and then and landing against the rear wall of the museum where deliveries were made and climbing up it to the roof.  
  
Fang, being experienced in questionable activities, led the way across the roof to the skylight they had ear marked as the one closest to the "Rod of Control" when they had visited the exhibit right after having their coffee. They would have actually arrived an hour earlier except Brooklyn had had one of his "Jolts" as he called them. He had gotten a shooting pain up and down his spine for several seconds, causing temporary paralysis and almost knocking him unconscious. Despite the spell Oberon had cast on Brooklyn and Demona, linking them in immortality, he seemed to let Brooklyn keep the wound Goliath had given him as a permanent reminder that none were immune from "justice." Fang had suggested that they abort until tomorrow night when Brooklyn might be feeling better, but the red gargoyle had insisted they do it tonight.  
  
"I won't let a little pain get in the way of my destiny," he had said quite adamantly. "It's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to them in return."  
  
Fang was clad completely in black like Brook and Mal were. Brooklyn and Mal were armed in case it might be necessary to deal with the guards.  
  
Mal had a single shot dart pistol that was small enough to be stuffed into the pocket of his black combat slacks as well as a dozen extra darts, which contained a very powerful sedative that would knock out it's victim in a matter of seconds. He also had a steel pair of tonfa that he had spent almost two months practicing with on a daily basis.  
  
Brooklyn on the other hand was a walking armoury.  
  
He had cut two deep cuts into his leather coat so he could use his wings without removing it. He was equipped with a pair of .50 Desert Eagle pistols on shoulder-mounted holsters while his belt contained pouches containing extra clips, knives, and if Fang suspected correctly, a handful of low-yield grenades. His sword also hung on his belt. It was a black and gold hilted Katana, with an iron blade that had been folded and beaten upon itself one and a quarter million times, along each side of the entire twenty-seven inch curved blade, were seven runes that had been cut in with a diamond tipped drill that hurt Fang's eyes to look at, spaced evenly at three inch intervals. In Brooklyn's hands was his staff. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Two meters long, with a silver cap piece in the shape of a raven with its wings outstretched, the haft itself had a titanium core surrounded by a reinforced steel sleeve covered by an iron jacket, in which one hundred and forty-four runes had been carved with precision cutting tools to a nanometer of Brooklyn's specifications.  
  
Fang looked at the staff in wonder.  
  
He didn't even want to hazard a guess as to how much both had cost.  
  
What he really wanted to know was why Brooklyn had thought it necessary to arm himself so heavily.  
  
The trio snuck up to the skylight and waited while Fang produced his "tool kit" from his belt and began to undo the alarm systems covering the window. After barely five minutes, Fang was finished and the window was lying wide open with a rope tied to a nearby chimneystack going down into the open hole.  
  
The trio carefully negotiated the exhibits, moving in silence and being careful not to be caught by security cameras or the occasional night watchmen. After roughly eight minutes they arrived at their goal.  
  
"At last," whispered Brooklyn to himself, "The Rod of Control."  
  
The "Rod of Control" was a two feet long iron rod, one inch in diameter and covered with sixty-six daemonic runes, it was held in a glass case with a plaque beneath it, giving its history and background. A background, which the red gargoyle knew all about.  
  
Fang checked for alarms along the casing while Brooklyn stared at his prize, his hands fidgeting in excitement. Mal was acting as lookout several meters away. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Fang was finished checking the casing. It didn't have any alarms. Fang carefully lifted the casing while Brooklyn stared on, transfixed by the rod. When the casing was removed, Brooklyn suddenly seemed to come out of his daydreaming state. He brushed past Fang and grabbed the rod very quickly, like a child who has been waiting too long a time to play with a toy that means a lot to them.  
  
He stared at it for several minutes in his enclosed fist, totally ignoring Fang when he asked him if they should be going now. A long, cruel smile spread across his lips as his eyes began to flare pale blue.  
  
Much to Fang's surprise, he began to speak to it.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come through Abaddon's gate. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Bypass Cerberus on your way. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come from Lucifer's side. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Arise from the throne room of Perdition. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Past the Hell Fire and Sulphur Lakes. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. It is the Anointed One, who speaks."  
  
The rod began to glow the same disturbing shade of pale blue that Brooklyn's eyes were. The light changed to brilliant white as the rod buckled in his hand violently as Brooklyn began to speak in strangest language Fang had ever heard.  
  
Like a small sun dawning, the enslaved daemon poured out of the head of the tainted iron rod. Its radiance lighting up the entire third floor of the museum.  
  
"Oh my God," stuttered Fang in horror. He looked at Brooklyn. The gargoyle's face was contorted in intense concentration. His eyes were still glowing that creepy shade of pale blue.  
  
He looked back at the daemon. All he saw was white light.  
  
Light that was so brilliant that it was almost painful to look at. He couldn't make out the true form of the daemon, although he wasn't too sure that he wanted to. He had always regarded white light to be pure somehow, chaste to be noble and good. But this whiteness was unutterably malevolent, chilling; its purity was an abomination.  
  
-Oh my God!-thought Fang as he started to tremble. -Oh my holy God! What has he done?-  
  
Brooklyn strode up to the daemon, confidence seeping off him. Fang thought he could hear Mal screaming something behind him. He didn't look to see though. He was too scared and fascinated by what was transpiring before him.  
  
"You are Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo?" said Brooklyn. It wasn't a question.  
  
Yes, came the reply. The daemon's voice sounded twisted and cruel, sending chills down Fang's spine. He could have sworn that he heard that voice echo inside his head.  
  
"You are the guide? He who shall lead the true anointed one to the weapons of Lucifer?"  
  
Yes.  
  
"My name is Brooklyn Wyvern," stated the red skinned gargoyle, his eyes blazing a pale blue. "And I hereby declare that it is I who is the Anointed One."  
  
You have proof. I presume?  
  
"What? You mean apart from the fact that I summoned you here without the aid of a host body or a sacrificial victim? That I know your true name? That I know your purpose? That I have this." on the last part, Brooklyn pulled the Malus Codicium out of an inside pocket in his coat, letting his staff lean against him while his other hand remained firmly on the rod. The daemon seemed to study the book for a moment before replying.  
  
If you are the Anointed. Then you will know it's true name.  
  
"Bel'akor," replied the gargoyle, grinning.  
  
The light around the daemon faded and it's true form was revealed.  
  
Fang gasped in horror.  
  
The daemon floated several inches from the floor. A nightmare brought into reality. Its glowing red eyes regarded the gargoyle curiously. It is true that you have the book and the knowledge, it said. It then pointed to Fang and Mal, who had come up beside him without the mutate even noticing. But what is their purpose?  
  
"They're my friends," replied Brooklyn flatly, "You will not touch them. Do you understand?"  
  
You dare to order me around insect?  
  
"Dolore adficere," said Brooklyn. The daemon howled and began to writhe in agony in the air as the rod began to glow again. "I hold the rod you fool. I am your master. You will do everything I command you to do or I shall take great pleasure in torturing you." The daemon continued to scream while Fang and Malibu continued to watch in horror at what their friend was doing.  
  
Forgive me my master, whined the daemon, I shall not question you again.  
  
"Desinere," said Brooklyn. The glow of the rod faded and the daemon stopped its writhing.  
  
"Brooklyn. What the Hell are you doing?" yelled Mal, "What's this shit about Lucifer?"  
  
Brooklyn turned and smiled at the pair to reassure them. Thanks to the weird glow in his eyes however, all he succeeded in doing was give them the creeps.  
  
"I am very sorry that I didn't tell you about this earlier Mal," started Brooklyn. "You see, there's this prophecy in the Codicium. About a red gargoyle being chosen to wield the weapons of Lucifer. He acts sort of like an angel of vengance and kills all those whom he believes truly deserve it."  
  
"Your insane," replied the clone. He took a step back at the look Brooklyn gave him. His eyes flared even more so as snarl appeared across his face.  
  
"I am perfectly sane Mal," he replied coldly, "Why the Hell would you, think otherwise?"  
  
"Your talking about deals with the fucking Devil here Brook!" Fang found himself shouting.  
  
Brooklyn turned on him, "I AM NOT MAKING A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL! I am just going to be borrowing a few pieces of the equipment he used in his war against heaven so I can have my revenge."  
  
"How'd you find out about this stuff anyway?" asked Mal, "I thought that damn thing was in another language or something?"  
  
"It told me," snapped Brooklyn, getting angry. His eyes suddenly widened as he realised his mistake. "I mean.I.I read it," he stuttered quickly, realising how lame that was.  
  
There was a flash of amber coloured light and Jezebel Tibbs stood beside Fan and Malibu. Her shotgun was in her hands.  
  
"Brooklyn! Listen to me! The book is manipulating you! You have to get rid of it!" she yelled.  
  
"I knew you were watching me," Brooklyn hissed, placing the book back in his pocket and grabbing his staff. "You don't trust me do you?"  
  
"Brooklyn, I think Jezebel's right," replied Mal, starting slowly towards his friend, palms open, "I think you should get rid of the book and send that.thing back to wherever it came from."  
  
Brooklyn looked confusedly between the daemon and his friends. "It was right all along," he muttered. His face became stern; he gave Jez, Fang and Mal a look that could kill.  
  
"IT WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG! YOU GUYS ARE AGAINST ME!" he suddenly roared. Tears of rage began to fill his glowing eyes. The staff and rod began to glow the same pale blue of his eyes. "You backstabbing BASTARDS!"  
  
Before he could do anything however, Jezebel shot him in the stomach. Brooklyn stared at her in complete shock before he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. The daemon came towards the trio menacingly.  
  
"Fulminous Vinite," screamed Jezebel, extending a hand that shot out lightning. The daemon howled as the destructive magical energy enveloped its incorporeal body. Sheathing her shotgun, Jezebel placed a hand on Fang and Malibu's shoulders. "Deflagrate muri intervallia!"  
  
In an instant, a ball of amber flame surrounded Jezebel, Fang and Malibu. In the next, they were gone.  
  
Brooklyn's corpse shuddered before it began breathing again. Clutching his stomach, he forced himself on his knees. He was breathing very heavily. He felt like the inside of his gut had been set on fire. Slowly the pain began to recede as he regained strength. He looked at the spot where his three friends had been.  
  
"She shot me," he whispered through clenched teeth, "She fucking shot me." He stood up, making sure he had a firm grip on the rod at all times. He would have to find a host for the daemon before he ever let his guard down around it. It was at its most powerful now, totally free and unrestricted by a body. If he had let go of the rod it would have torn him to shreds and probably have went on an unstoppable killing spree around the city.  
  
"Probably why she didn't shoot me in the crotch," he muttered to himself. He could hear an awful lot of police sirens in the distance. "So much for stealth."  
  
Undoubtedly security personnel who sensibly thought that this was a job for the slightly better paid and armed police force noticed the light show they had had.  
  
Brooklyn turned his head to the daemon, "From now on you will answer to the name of "Sin." Do you understand?"  
  
Yes master.  
  
"Then let's get the Hell out of here."  
  
A Penthouse rented by the gang: somewhere in Vienna  
  
A ball of amber flame lit up the room for a brief instant before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. In its place stood three very worried creatures.  
  
"What the Hell did you do that for?" yelled Fang.  
  
"You shot him Jez! What the fuck is the matter with you?" screamed Mal, "I might have reached him dammit!"  
  
"Were either of you two paying attention?" replied Jezebel, her eyes were a pair of flaming amber orbs. "That damn book has corrupted him. We have to figure a way to get it off him and banish that daemon back to Hell before he does something he might regret later on if his sanity ever returns."  
  
"What makes you think he'll become sane again if we get the book off him?" asked Mal.  
  
"He's been keeping it in his pocket whenever he hasn't been reading it," explained Jezebel. "He even admitted that it told him things. It probably whispers stuff in his head whenever he's asleep. Which explains how he knew what he needed to translate for that summoning he performed aswell as the two weapons he wanted made to exact specifications." She slapped her forehead violently, "Why did I believe him when he said he could handle the damn thing?"  
  
Her eyes snapped open when she remembered the odd feeling she had gotten when he had looked into her eyes a month ago.  
  
No. It wasn't possible. Was it? He couldn't become that powerful already.  
  
Could he?  
  
She suddenly understood why Macbeth had been so freaked out by the book. And why he insisted that it be locked away forever. She understood that perfectly well.  
  
She also had a horrible feeling she now knew why Macbeth had had that dream a few weeks prior to his death. Why at that precise time he had had the dream.  
  
Odd, that Brook had shown up the next day, carrying Mal over his shoulders, bleeding and unconscious. Two recruits right there whenever Macbeth was about to go hunting for Demona again. One who hated her as much as Macbeth had.  
  
"It planted the dream in his head," she said to no one in particular, still trying to understand the incredible truth herself.  
  
"That doesn't make sense," said Fang, a little calmer now that he'd emptied a small bottle of brandy from the fridge in one go. "How the Hell does a book plant something in someone's head?"  
  
"It's alive," replied Jezebel as she approached a phone that lay on a nearby table.  
  
"Jezebel. What are you doing?" asked Mal.  
  
"We can't beat him on our own. We will have to get.assistance."  
  
"Assistance? From who?"  
  
Jezebel sighed, "Goliath's clan."  
  
"Are you nuts?" yelled Fang. "They aren't going to help us."  
  
"That is why I shall speak to Demona and tell her that Brooklyn has the Codicium. She knows what it's capable of doing. If she is as reformed as she claims to be then she will convince the others."  
  
"And if she isn't?" inquired Fang.  
  
"Then we are extremely screwed," volunteered Mal.  
  
"Exactly," replied Jezebel, picking up the receiver and asking the desk to connect a long distance call to Manhattan.  
  
  
  
The Eyrie Building: Manhattan  
  
The intercom beeped on the desk, a slender hand moved and pressed the flashing button.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Miss Destine. There is an urgent call awaiting you on line 4."  
  
Dominique Destine, joint CEO of the now merged "Xanatos Enterprises and Nightstone Unlimited" sat back in her chair.  
  
"Just how urgent is it Rebecca? It will be sunset quite soon. I don't want to keep the clan waiting."  
  
"Something about a book that you might be interested in Miss Destine."  
  
Dominique's eyes narrowed, "What kind of book?"  
  
"A book called the Malus Codicium," answered Rebecca.  
  
Dominique's eyes widened open as she shot her hand out to grab the receiver on the phone as her other one hit number 4 on the dial.  
  
"Hello?" she snapped, "Who are you and what do you know about the Codicium?"  
  
There was a calm response on the phone.  
  
"Tibbs? Never heard of you. What has this got to do with the book?"  
  
The caller remained calm and told Dominique everything.  
  
It was several minutes later when Dominique was able to speak again, she looked a little frightened.  
  
"Are you totally sure about this?"  
  
The caller answered a positive.  
  
Dominique Destine sat in silence for several minutes, looking out at the Manhattan skyline as the sun shone through the gaps of the skyscrapers through her Two foot thick titanium reinforced floor to ceiling windows. It was unlikely that what happened a little under three months ago would ever happen again, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She swung her chair back around to her desk.  
  
"Alright, I believe you. Tell me where you are and I will be there by tomorrow."  
  
The caller asked a question.  
  
"The clan? Even if Goliath won't help I am sure that Angela, Broadway and Lexington will. He may have betrayed their trust but he's still their brother. What hotel are you staying in?"  
  
Dominique scribbled something down on a notepad with a pencil.  
  
"Okay. I will see you tomorrow Miss Tibbs. Until then do not go after him, contact him or attempt to ascertain his location until I am there to assist. Goodbye."  
  
Dominique hung up the phone and pressed the intercom.  
  
"Rebecca."  
  
"Yes Miss Destine?"  
  
"Cancel all my appointments for the next.three weeks and have my staff at the airport prepare my personal plane."  
  
"Yes Miss Destine. Anything else?"  
  
"Yes. I am going to give you keys to my estate in the in the Rockies. I want you take a plane there with your family and stay there until I call you. I will hire a plane out and send as many of my personal staff with families there aswell. You should all be safe there. It can accommodate about a hundred people for about a decade and its built into the mountain."  
  
"Safe? What's happening Demona?"  
  
Dominique let that go. Most of her closest co-workers knew her secret. It was quite hard to keep in some of those ridiculously long board meetings that could last into the small hours. She'd met all their families at the annual Christmas parties held before sunset. They were some of the few humans that she didn't hate anymore. They had made her determined to make it work with Angela after she saw how happy the others were with their families.  
  
They were good people, most of them. She felt obligated to protect them as they had protected her secret.  
  
"Just do as I say Rebecca. Don't question me."  
  
"Yes Miss Destine. I am sorry. I shall make the preparations."  
  
The intercom switched off, leaving Dominique alone with her thoughts. She turned to face the window and watched the sun begin its slow descent across the landscape. When it was close to setting, she rose and strode over to a closet and changed into a different outfit. A black body glove with holes to accommodate where her wings and tail would soon be. She then slid on titanium shin guards, a breast and shoulder plate designed for her alter ego's considerably greater cleavege, and a pair of wrist guards that enclosed most of her fore arms and had several experimental devices her and Xanatos' company were building for the military and the C.I.A. The entire body glove was designed exclusively for the clan; it could make them invisible to radar and, in Lexington's opinion, made them look pretty cool. None of the others had used them except Lexington and herself. Preferring their loincloths for some unfathomable reason, "tradition" or some similar rubbish like that. She would get them into them eventually, them, or at least something less revealing than a damn loincloth.  
  
When the sunset came, she wrapped her arms around herself and screamed in agony as the transformation began, she could feel her wings begin to rise from her hunched back, bones the human body didn't have forming out of nowhere and slotting themselves into prepared positions. Her tail shot out of the base of her spine while fangs grew in her mouth and her skin colour changed from healthy white to azure blue. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.  
  
Demona went over to another closet on the other side of her room and tapped a code into a computerised lock. The device buzzed and the door swung open, revealing several racks of weapons from throwing knives and a garrotte, to a AK-47 and a the new laser bazooka model that she had exclusive access to.  
  
If she was really going to patrol with her clan again, she was damn sure she was not going to be outgunned like the rest of the clan usually were.  
  
She selected a single edged short sword and attached it to the sheath sown into her left hip. A laser pistol with extra cells, a 9mm-berretta pistol with some extra clips, an assortment of knives of varying sizes. The garrotte, and finally, an army issue combat shotgun, which she slid into a sheath on her back before putting a belt containing almost fifty extra shells lined in two rows around her waist. She looked at the rest of her weapons and made a mental note to have them all sent to her plane.  
  
She then walked over to yet another closet in her room which held the many magical artefacts she had collected over the ages and selected several old tomes and headed upstairs to inform Goliath and the rest of the clan that Brooklyn was in Europe and about to begin the Apocalypse.  
  
Several miles outside of Vienna  
  
Sin floated up to his new master as he stood atop a hill looking over Vienna.  
  
"It's quite beautiful. Isn't it?" asked Brooklyn.  
  
It can never be beautiful Master. The humans have tainted it.  
  
"You remind me of Demona," said Brookyn as he sighed, "Where are the weapons Sin?"  
  
They are scattered over this land Master.  
  
"Do you mean Austria specifically or do you mean Europe?"  
  
Europe.  
  
Brooklyn turned from the view of the city, "Where is the first?"  
  
The daemon rose into the air and scanned the horizon before pointing south.  
  
The first can be found in Graz, to the south of here Master.  
  
"How far?"  
  
I.don't know Master.  
  
Brooklyn rolled his eyes.  
  
"Typical!" he yelled, "In that case we are going to the nearest bus depot to find out." He started to head down the hill when he stopped suddenly and looked at his unearthly travelling companion. "But first. We shall go to the morgue. Can't have you floating around, attracting unwanted attention to us can we?"  
  
Yes Master. Where is this morgue?  
  
"Why its.near the hospital I imagine."  
  
Yes Master. Where is this hospital?  
  
"I.don't actually know," confessed the gargoyle, looking out at the huge city before him, "I don't suppose you can read German Sin?"  
  
No Master.   
  
Brooklyn rubbed his chin for a moment.  
  
"Bugger."  
  
To be continued.  
  
Not as well written as some parts of the series I'm afraid but I haven't been feeling a hundred percent the last few days. Big thanks to Storyseeker for helping me with the idea for this episode as well being my beta reader. Big thanks to Caboose and anyone else who for one reason or the other, seems to like my work. I shall try my best to get the next instalment out as soon as possible. Until then, all suggestions and comments are greatly welcome. You all know my address!  
  
The Emperor Protects!  
  
Darkness 


	9. The Lack of Conscience

The Lack of Conscience  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
An apartment block in Graz, Austria: Two days ago  
  
Picture the inside of an elevator, nothing overtly fancy or anything, just four metal walls, a floor and grilled ceiling. There is some very poor excuse for elevator music playing. Inside the elevator is a young woman who looks like she is in her late teens or very early twenties. She has a shy face with a button nose, light green eyes that hide behind a pair of black rimmed glasses, she has short ash-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and was wearing the sort of outfit people automatically assume is the type worn by a prostitute. Black hooker boots and a skimpy red silk skirt with black trimming that left little to the imagination, covering this was a light- brown trench coat that hung open loosely. On either side of her lay a black suitcase, as well as a plastic bag from a local supermarket.  
  
When the elevator stopped and the doors slide open, the girl picked the suitcases and supermarket bag up and walked quickly out into the apartment corridor. There were doors at regular intervals along the opposite side of where the door to the elevator lay. She took a right and walked down the corridor cautiously, looking behind her every few steps as if she feared she was being followed. She checked each door number with a quick glance until she came to the one she was looking for.  
  
She placed the suitcases a little down the corridor a bit before stepping back to the door. She knocked nervously on it while looking down both ways down the corridor. When she heard someone on the other side of the door mumble something and start fiddling with the locks, she placed both her hands, still holding the plastic bag, behind her back. The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with unruly black hair and an ugly, unshaven face, there was a stench of scotch from his breath.  
  
"Hey there sexy," he slurred, "So, you decided to accept my offer after all? Eh?"  
  
"I...I need the money," said the young girl sadly.  
  
"I thought so," replied the hoar taker. He had driven around the streets earlier and had seen her there. He could tell that she had never done anything like this before from the nervous way she stood and kept looking left and right every few seconds as if she thought something might jump her if she wasn't careful and vigilant. He had driven right up to her in his fabulous rented "Mercedes-Benz CLK55" with its Obsidian Black Metallic paint job and given her (in his not so humble opinion) an offer she couldn't refuse. While she thought about it he had given her the address of the apartment he was staying in for the week and had driven off rather speedily to get everything prepared.  
  
He had picked her because she was young, fearful, vulnerable, and desperate for money. If she pleased him tonight then he might consider hiring her services again before he returned from his "business trip" at the end of the week to his forty-two year old wife in Holland.  
  
He beckoned her in with one finger and turned his back to go to the kitchen and pour her some of the scotch he himself had been drinking as he had awaited her arrival.  
  
The girl quickly pulled a Glock semi-automatic, complete with silencer from her plastic bag with her right hand while quickly covering the man's head with the open bag with her left. Before he could react to the sudden attack, she pressed the nozzle against the back of his head, where the spine and skull were connected, and fired one shot.  
  
Her victim crumpled to the floor without a sound.  
  
Smiling happily, she picked the man's corpse up with worrying ease, found the bathroom and unceremoniously dumped his body in the tub. She then put the plug in and began running the cold water so as to slow his decomposition. She walked over to where she had shot him and examined the floor, smiling. The bag had done its job perfectly; the mess one would expect was reduced to a minimum. Easily solved with a little cleaning.  
  
"Excellent."  
  
She walked outside and picked up the two suitcases and brought them before locking the door behind her. She saw the open door leading to the bedroom and walked inside. She examined the wide variety of sex toys spread out on the sheets and shook her head disapprovingly.  
  
"A man who still needs toys at his age wouldn't have been any fun at all," she said to herself, picking up a black leather whip and examining it. "Very poor quality too," she mumbled.  
  
She went to the bathroom to check how full the tub was and turned the tap off after she was sure enough was in. All she had to do was get her hands on some ice she could slow his decomposition for up to a week.  
  
According to Furcifer, she only needed to wait a few days at most for the Anointed to arrive by bus.  
  
She walked over to her suitcases and began to remove her disguise as quickly as possible.  
  
-If I don't get some damn leather rubbing against my skin in the next few minutes I'll fucking scream!-  
  
A café opposite the Graz bus station: back to present  
  
This café was similar to the ones you tend to find everywhere on the continent, about two dozen wooden tables littered the area outside of it where many patrons had chosen to refresh themselves due to the fine weather.  
  
At one of these tables sat two gentlemen. They didn't stand out in anyway. One in his mid-fifties with a Mediterranean tan, neat black hair going grey, dark green eyes, and a strong chin and was well shaven. He wore a dark green tank top, black jeans, boots, and a black leather coat that fell to his ankles.  
  
His associate was in his early thirties with a lighter tan on his skin, his head was completely shaven, no hair, moustache or anything. He had penetrating chestnut coloured eyes, a hawk like nose and a scar running across his right cheek. He wore a black leather coat similar to his older associate, as well as black chinos, shoes, and a dark grey shirt.  
  
Both were sipping café lattes.  
  
Across the street they could see buses arriving at the station and depositing their passengers. After several minutes a bus from Vienna arrived and a handful of passengers disembarked. Among them was a young man clad completely in black, with a leather coat similar to theirs and with long white hair tied back in a ponytail. He was holding several brand new travelling bags, one, quite thin and about sword length, was hanging over his shoulder, another was so long it appeared to be holding a very long fishing rod. He was glancing around suspiciously at his companion. A black man in his mid-forties in blue jeans, hiking boots, a red T-shirt and a grey raincoat with his hood pulled up. He was saying something to him that his two watchers couldn't hear.  
  
The black man in the hood scanned the crowd around them, his eyes resting on the two men watching them at the café, for a brief second, he smiled at them before continuing to look around at all the people in the street. He turned to his young companion and shook his head.  
  
The young man seemed satisfied, handed some of his bags to him, and gestured for him to follow.  
  
"That is indeed interesting. Wouldn't you agree Eric?" asked the older man as he watched the pair head off.  
  
"It is Inquisit-" his companion stopped at the look the older man was giving, "I mean, Emmanuel. Very interesting. The daemon didn't tell him that he was being watched."  
  
Emmanuel nodded, still watching the two men heading into a nearby hotel. "Don't address me by my title Eric. We don't know if there are already any cultists or anything watching for us," he whispered.  
  
"Of course sir, forgive me."  
  
"No harm done. Just be careful in the future."  
  
"I will sir, but are you sure it's that's the kid we're looking for?"  
  
"Undoubtedly. I can feel the Dark Powers converging around him even this far away from us."  
  
"What shall we do with them?"  
  
"When he goes to look for the first piece of Lucifer's equipment. We shall intercept and kill him."  
  
"And the daemon host?"  
  
Emmanuel frowned, "We shall prevail Eric. As we must. We are soldiers of God, we cannot afford to fail in our holy mission."  
  
Several tables away, a very young woman sat sipping a cappuccino and listening to every word the two men said. She looked over to the hotel where the hot young guy with white hair and the black threads and his assistant had entered.  
  
-So- she thought calmly as she sipped her coffee, -He's the one I have been waiting for. Nice ass. I will have to get a piece of that.-  
  
She looked over at the two men who appeared to be totally oblivious to her presence and smiled darkly.  
  
-They are certainly going to make this much more interesting.-  
  
With that in mind, she finished her coffee and strolled over to her brand new Mercedes-Benz CLK55, got in, and drove off.  
  
A hotel in Vienna: An hour after sunset  
  
"Do you have any idea where Brooklyn may have gone?" asked Goliath. He and his entire clan were in a penthouse suite on the top floor in a very fancy hotel overlooking the city.  
  
"We aren't very sure I'm afraid," replied the little old lady who had pointed a shotgun at him several months ago. She had identified herself as Jezebel Tibbs, a friend and servant of the late Macbeth. "However, this morning I learned of a case of body snatching yesterday. No one saw the perpetrator enter or leave the hospital. I suspect Brooklyn was looking for a corpse so that he could enslave that daemon, he conjured up, so it would be less conspicuous than walking around with a floating nightmare."  
  
"Actually," said Demona as she stepped forward, "It's for safety measures. You see it's much easier to control a bound daemon. Their powers are considerably weaker, but they can be controlled if the right runes are inscribed on the intended host."  
  
"How come you know so much about this type of magic Demona?" asked Broadway, eyeing her suspiciously.  
  
"The book Brooklyn is using.used to belong to me," replied Demona. Her head sunk in shame, "Two hundred years ago I found the book by accident while in Gibraltar. It offered me all I ever wanted. The power to destroy humanity and place my race as the masters of the world. Thankfully Macbeth found me and took the book and hid it so that I could never use it against humanity again." She looked solemn as she confessed this; Angela came and placed a hand on her shoulder supportively.  
  
"That was a long time ago mother. You're different now. Humanity will accept us one day, you'll see."  
  
Demona smiled at her daughter and hugged her. Fang and Malibu rolled their eyes at the same time and headed for the balcony as quickly as possible.  
  
"So where do you think he is now Mal?" asked Fang as he closed the door behind them. Mal walked over to the rail and looked out at the vast city spread out before him.  
  
"He could be anywhere," replied the clone, "Jezebel told me she checked with the bank and apparently Brook took almost half a million out. The bank hasn't a clue where it is now."  
  
"He planned this," concluded Fang, joining his friend at the rail, "In case we didn't want to help him after he got the rod. "  
  
"That's my guess." Mal turned towards the mutate, "You have associates around these parts don't you Fang? I mean, couldn't you use them to find him or something?"  
  
"Tried that already kid," said Fang, shaking his head, "He isn't in Vienna any longer. In fact, he could be anywhere," he sighed. Despite their differences, he and Brooklyn had been friends now for weeks. They had a lot in common, they liked the same music and films and even the same damn books. He had tried his best along with Mal to help Brooklyn get through how awful he felt after his banishment. It had been working fine until Oberon had shown up and ruined everything. He looked out at the city, "I hope he's okay, wherever he is."  
  
Graz  
  
Brooklyn frowned as he glided over the small city, he turned his head to his travelling companion, "Where is it Sin?"  
  
The demon host flew beside him, it's host body's dead eyes looked back into his hazel ones and sent a shiver down his spine.  
  
~Near a secret entrance in a park several miles outside the city my Master,~ it replied.  
  
Brooklyn faced away from the daemon. There was no command rune that could be used to force a daemon to tell the truth unfortunately. However, as Sin was his captive, he had made it very clear that to lie to him would result in a lengthy torture session.  
  
After about half an hour of uncomfortable silence, Sin finally slowed to a hover and pointed to a hill with a children's play park resting on the flat top.  
  
~There.~  
  
Brooklyn made a dive for the park with his daemon host, close, behind him. After landing the pair approached the base of the hill.  
  
"So.how am I supposed to gain access to the place where this weapon is?"  
  
~It is not a weapon Master.~  
  
Brooklyn raised an eye ridge, "What do you mean it's not a weapon?"  
  
~In this hill lies what the humans rather dramatically call "The Lack of Conscience," it is an amulet which contains the jewel of the crown of Darkness in it.~  
  
"Okay. And the reason I would want this jewel is because?"  
  
~It is a key Master. Without this you cannot contest for the weapons.~  
  
"Bugger. Okay then. So what do I do now then?"  
  
"Drop your sword, your staff and any other weapons you may have and then put your hands up!"  
  
Brooklyn and Sin spun around to see whom the new voice belonged to. Brooklyn's eyes bulged as he dropped his staff and sword and put his hands in the air while Sin growled menacingly.  
  
Before them stood two men, one of them, in his early thirties and with a shaven head, was pointing a missile launcher at him from twenty meters away.  
  
The other, a man in his mid-fifties, held a Katana sword in his hands with runes similar inscribed on the blade that were similar to the ones Brooklyn had on his own sword.  
  
He could make out armoured body gloves underneath their long black leather coats.  
  
"Nice coat," said the man with the missile launcher.  
  
"Thanks," replied Brooklyn conversationally, "So.what can I do for you?"  
  
"You can start by telling us where you are keeping the Malus Codicium," replied the older man.  
  
"Why should I tell you where it is?"  
  
"I am Inquisitor Emmanuel Hasphant," replied the older man.  
  
"Inquisitor?"  
  
"Yes," replied Hasphant, "I am a soldier of God's Most Holy Order. It is our duty to seek out those who would threaten God's Church."  
  
"How am I threatening the Church?" replied Brooklyn, trying to decide if this man was a total head case or not.  
  
"You carry a work of the Dark Prince with you!" screamed the other man, "You consort with daemons! You make pacts with them! You are the willing emissary of Lucifer himself! You are a heretic of the worse kind and must pay the price for your transgressions!"  
  
Brooklyn looked at the man holding the missile launcher as if he had grown a second head before his attention back to Hasphant, "You actually trust this man with explosives?" "Heldane can be a little.eager at times," explained the Inquisitor, "But he is a good and most trustworthy man."  
  
Brooklyn looked back at the man with the launcher curiously.  
  
Heldane. He was sure he had heard that name before somewhere. The only thing that he couldn't remember was where?  
  
It wasn't important right now. What was important right now was stalling these two zealots until he came up with a plan.  
  
"So.um.why do you want the book anyways?"  
  
"It is a tome of Satan," replied Hasphant, stepping forward, "It is evil incarnate and must be destroyed."  
  
"And what exactly are you going to do to me?"  
  
Hasphant gave him a compassionate look, "You are only a pawn in our war against the Darkness gargoyle. If you repent now we shall make your death as quick and painless as possible. If you refuse then we must drive the Devil's influence out of your heart with fire before we grant you death."  
  
What scared Brooklyn wasn't the fact that this man had told them they were going to kill him either way, why would it? He was immortal. The thing that scared him was that this man maintained that compassionate look the whole way through his speech, and that he was smiling at the end of it.  
  
"Well gargoyle, what do you say?"  
  
Brooklyn stood motionless, trying to give these two fanatics the impression that he was considering their offer while in reality he trying to guess if the plan he suddenly thought up would work. It would be extremely dangerous and if he didn't get everything perfect he would probably be in a huge amount of pain.  
  
Hasphant asked him again what his decision was. Brooklyn looked up at him and smiled.  
  
"Blow me."  
  
He started at a sprint for Sin, drawing the rod as he did so. He heard Hasphant mutter something about everyone always doing it the hard way as he threw himself to the ground as Heldane let loose with the launcher.  
  
"Sin! Shield me!" screamed the gargoyle as he threw himself behind the daemon host. The missile was barely five meters away when Sin reacted. It flew right at the projectile, meeting it half way. The missile hit it right in the chest, detonating the host body as it did so. Brooklyn was sent flying through the air, crashing against the side of the hill and almost losing consciousness. The rod flew out of his hands and landed several meters away. There was enormous explosion of light as the host body was utterly destroyed and Sin was released.  
  
~FREEDOM! ~ Screamed the daemon triumphantly as it rose from the flames of the explosion as if it were a phoenix. Hasphant and Heldane swore viscously. Sin swooped down towards Hasphant. The Inquisitor spoke a word of power and the blade of his sword became enveloped in green fire, he swung the blade at the non-corporeal daemon and it hissed at him in pain before backing off.  
  
Brooklyn was impressed. Physical weapons were totally useless against a daemon without a host body, but Hasphant was using some sort of magical energy to sting it. He was so caught up in the duel between man and daemon that he didn't notice Heldane sprint past the combatants and come at him until it was too late.  
  
Heldane drew a revolver and fired, hitting Brooklyn in his right shoulder. The gargoyle howled in agony as he groped for one of his Desert Eagle pistols to return fire. Before he was able to pull the pistol out of it's holster, Heldane was barely a meter away. Heldane fired three rounds into Brooklyn's chest. The gargoyle howled before he slumped back, dead.  
  
Smiling triumphantly, Heldane ran over to where the rod lay and picked it up. He heard a scream and turned around to see Hasphant have his sword hand incinerated. The man staggered back, screaming prayers of banishment at the demon, which simply laughed off his efforts. Heldane raised his pistol shot his master between the eyes. The Inquisitor went rigid for a second before he collapsed to the ground.  
  
"Daemon!" yelled Heldane. Sin turned to face the treacherous Inquisitor.  
  
~That wasn't very sporting, was it?~  
  
"That old man was a fool," replied Heldane, pointing the rod at his dead master, "He actually thought I sought to redeem my family's name when one was burned as a heretic." He smiled evilly, "But in reality I seek the power my ancestor once wielded," he held up the rod as if it were a trophy, "And now I have it and you to do my bidding!"  
  
~Very nice, good for you. However you are overlooking one minor detail.~  
  
Heldane raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "What are you babbling about daemon? I hold the rod that imprisoned you. Therefore I have the power."  
  
~Not quite,~ replied Sin, as it built up power for an attack, ~you see Brooklyn was the one who released me. I would have killed him had he not spoken the proper command words that the Codicium passed on to him.~ It grinned, revealing many, many teeth. ~You don't happen to know them do you?~  
  
Heldane opened his mouth to scream, but Sin beat him to it, firing an energy blast it had been building up. Heldane fell to his knees as demonic fire engulfed him. He screamed in utter agony as his clothes burned, his skin blistered and his eyes melted in their sockets. The rod and his pistol melted too, the scalding liquid iron and steel flowed over his ruined hands, adding to the torture. He almost looked like a man being burned at the stake.  
  
Brooklyn's corpse, several meters away, suddenly shuddered before the gargoyle's eyes shot open and he sat up, taking huge gasps of air. He heard screaming and looked in the direction of Heldane. He turned his eyes away, horrified at the terrible way the man was dying. He pulled out one of his Desert Eagle pistols and looked back at Heldane.  
  
The man was still screaming while Sin looked on, laughing maniacally. He pointed the gun at the treacherous Inquisitor.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered as he pulled the trigger. The powerful handgun roared as the bullet flew from the barrel and hit Heldane in the temple. The man stopped screaming and fell forward on his face, dead.  
  
Very slowly, Sin turned his attention to Brooklyn. ~Nice to see you're alive again Master,~ it said. ~That means I can kill you. Again and again and again.~  
  
It fired an energy blast, but Brooklyn leapt aside and was thrown into the air by the explosion as the blast hit the ground. Brooklyn rolled with the fall and came up on his feet, wincing at the pain he felt in his chest. Although he was healing quickly thanks to his immortality, it still hurt like Hell to breathe. He started to feel groggy, but he shook it off. He'd rest after he imprisoned Sin again.  
  
The daemon began to circle him as he desperately tried to control his breathing. He needed to focus if he was going to fight the daemon with magic.  
  
He began muttering a spell under his breath as the daemon swooped in for an attack. Brooklyn screamed the last command word as he let loose with a ball of magical energy at the Hell spawn. Sin stopped in mid air and caught the blast between its hands. It laughed as the ball solidified while Brooklyn started backing off in terror.  
  
Sin hurled the now solidified ball at its former master. The projectile crashed into Brooklyn's chest, breaking all of his ribs and crushing his lungs and heart. Its speed was so great that it lifted the gargoyle off of his feet and threw him a dozen meters away, landing near Hasphant's corpse.  
  
Sin threw its head back and laughed sadistically.  
  
~Did you actually think that you could claim the weapons of Lucifer you insignificant little worm?~ it laughed.  
  
It hovered over Brooklyn's body and began to undo the buttons of his shirt as it waited for him to be brought back. The plastic buttons melting at its touch while the material the shirt was made of began to smoulder while Brooklyn's exposed chest and stomach began to blister at being so close to the daemon. After about half a minute of waiting Brooklyn shuddered violently, his blistered chest heaved as he began to breath again. His eyes slowly opened wearily before they focused in on what hovering just above him.  
  
He tried to bring his hands up to cast a spell, but Sin caught his wrists in its own hands and laughed as Brooklyn threw his head back and screamed as the flesh around his wrists began burn severely. It forced his hands above his head and held both down in its left hand while it brought its right down on his stomach.  
  
Brooklyn screamed even louder as Sin pumped more power into its right hand, laughing the whole time.  
  
The scent of cooking flesh filled Brooklyn's nostrils. His flesh. He could actually hear the sound of the flesh around his stomach sizzle. He was sure he was going to throw up. In desperation he tried kicking the demon away, but his feet passed through the malevolent entity, receiving third degree burns for his trouble.  
  
~Tell me Brooklyn,~ laughed Sin over Brooklyn's screaming. ~If I tear your heart out, will you grow another one? ~ It laughed, ~Or will the heart I ripped out sprout legs and run back into you chest? ~ It laughed again before lifting its flaming hand off Brooklyn's ruined stomach and released his wrists.  
  
Brooklyn drifted in and out of conciseness as the daemon cackled above him.  
  
~Lets find out, shall we?~ it said as it moved its hands towards Brooklyn's chest.  
  
"Back off!" screamed a feminine voice.  
  
Sin was hurled away from Brooklyn by a blast of white energy. It hissed in anger at the newcomer who had hurt it.  
  
Brooklyn turned his head to his left, where he had heard the voice. He saw a woman with ash-blonde hair and a button nose holding his staff. She was wearing a tight fitting black leather body glove, complete with black boots and gloves; she also wore a black flak jacket over this.  
  
~Riana,~ said Sin venomously, ~I haven't seen you in ages. How have you been my dear?~  
  
"Oh I'm fine," replied the woman in a conversational tone. Brooklyn could see she had his sword on her belt, along with a pistol, some clips, knives, and what looked like a whip. She strode over to him, keeping his staff pointed at Sin in case it tried anything. When she stood beside him she prodded him gently with her foot. "Can you move?"  
  
"I.I.think so," whispered Brooklyn weakly. It was becoming a considerable effort to talk.  
  
Riana held the staff in her left hand while she bent over and gave Brooklyn support as he tried to stand, he groaned in pain as he put weight on the burned soles of his feet. Riana wrapped her arm around his waist, holding him up with a surprising amount of strength. Brooklyn had to rely completely on her support; he was in such a bad condition that he could barely stand.  
  
"You do know how to bind him to a host don't you?" she asked Brooklyn.  
  
"Y-yes," whispered the gargoyle.  
  
Riana, holding Brooklyn, while keeping the staff trained on the freed daemon, stumbled awkwardly over to the late Hasphant's body. She gently laid him on his knees beside the corpse while Sin hissed dangerously at them.  
  
~I'll make you suffer for this you little whore,- it threatened.  
  
"Shut up!" she snapped back as Brooklyn took a knife from his belt and cut the front of the armoured body glove covering Hasphant's chest off.  
  
Sin roared and flew at the pair, Riana drove him back with a blast using the staff. Sin came at them again and again, being forced back each time by blasts from Riana. Brooklyn meanwhile had slit his palm open with the knife and started drawing runes onto the dead man's chest, stomach and forehead with his own blood.  
  
Sin changed tactics suddenly and began showering the pair with destructive energy bolts, forcing Riana onto the defensive. She slammed one end of the staff into the ground.  
  
"Shield!" she yelled. A white umbrella of magical energy surrounded her and Brooklyn, deflecting the blasts off them and sending them hurtling off in random directions.  
  
"Finished," said Brooklyn. He barely had the strength to stay upright any longer.  
  
"Good work!" yelled Riana over the din of the nearby explosions, "Now say the incantation of binding so we can end this!"  
  
"I.I need the staff."  
  
Riana tossed it to the half dead gargoyle and drew Brooklyn's sword. The blade erupted in white flames as Riana channelled her power through it. Yelling a battle cry, she leapt at Sin and made a series of slashes and thrusts at the demon with the demonically enhanced blade, occasionally stinging it, forcing it back as Brooklyn began to chant the words of power as quickly he could.  
  
Sin howled as the blade hurt it again and replied with a blast of energy that Riana dodged with cat like grace. They circled each other warily.  
  
~Interfering bitch!~  
  
"Backstabbing bastard!"  
  
Sin lunged at her, but howled in pain as Riana simply thrust the sword out before her, allowing the daemon's own momentum to cause it injury. She laughed, sadistically, at its pain.  
  
"What's the matter Iieo?" she laughed cruelly, "Have you gotten that weak since the last time we met?"  
  
~You no good BITCH! ~ Roared the daemon, as it raised a hand to send a bolt of energy at her.  
  
"In servitutem ab-abduco, I bind thee fast and forever into this host!" yelled a hoarse voice.  
  
Sin bayed loudly in rage and defeat as his in-corporeal form was dragged into Hasphant's corpse. Riana looked over in Brooklyn's direction. The red gargoyle's clothes were torn and burnt in many places; she could see the terrible burns on his legs, his belly, and around his wrists. His chest was almost black with bruises from the awful damage he had sustained while his breathing was shallow and laboured. He was still on his knees, one hand pressed against the chest of Sin's new host, the other held his staff loosely in the air, the raven end pointed in her direction.  
  
"Can.I.die.now?" he asked in-between breaths.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Brooklyn nodded his thanks and slumped forward on top of his prone daemon host.  
  
Riana looked around at the carnage that surrounded her, there were craters everywhere from when she had deflected Sin's attacks, not to mention a body burned so badly it would be a challenge to even guess if it was human or not, as well as bits and pieces of Sin's former host.  
  
She smiled.  
  
"This is going to be more fun than I thought!"  
  
Feldbach, Austria: Six days later  
  
Brooklyn stirred slightly before his eyes slowly opened. He was lying in a bed with the covers pulled up to his shoulders. His chest still hurt when he breathed, but not nearly as bad as before. He pulled the covers down, noticing his wrists and palm were bandaged, and began to check the progress of his healing.  
  
His chest, right shoulder and belly were bandaged, someone had removed his chinos to get at his burned legs and feet and wrapped them up from the knee down in even more bandages, thankfully no one had removed the black boxers he had been wearing in human form before he had changed back into a gargoyle. He sat up on the bed and began to check the bandages over his wrists, he felt a little light headed and tired, but he tried to ignore the feeling and remove the wrist bandages when a door across from the bed opened and a woman in black walked in. The same woman who had helped him bind Sin.  
  
"Ah your awake," she said pleasantly as she sat down on the bed beside him. Her voice held no trace of any accent to give Brooklyn a clue from where she was from.  
  
"Thanks for helping me," said Brooklyn as he looked her over, "Who are you anyway?"  
  
"Riana Mirelip," replied the woman as she took Brooklyn's right hand and began to unravel the bandages, when she was done, she checked it. His wrist was fully healed. She repeated the process with Brooklyn's left hand and wrist and smiled when there was no sign of the burns or the cut on his palm. "I am the guardian of Lucifer's gem."  
  
"Lucifer's what?"  
  
"The amulet that you and Iieo were looking for."  
  
Brooklyn's eyes widened at the mention of the daemon's true name, "We did bind him didn't we? I mean he didn't escape or anything?"  
  
"I have him downstairs," replied Riana, "He is quite well restrained. He isn't going anywhere."  
  
Brooklyn relaxed and let out a sigh of relief, looking at his surroundings, "Where are we?"  
  
"Your in my home. We are in a town called Feldbach. We're an hour's drive from Graz," replied Riana, "Are you hungry?"  
  
Brooklyn's stomach growled loudly in response, the gargoyle smiled sheepishly at her, "A little."  
  
"I'll get you something to eat then," said Riana, standing up, "By the way. How long will it take you to heal if you go into stone sleep?"  
  
Brooklyn thought for a moment, "How long have I been unconscious?"  
  
"Six days."  
  
"About a week then."  
  
"Very well," replied Riana, heading to the door. "In one week's time we shall go back to Graz so you can contest for the gem."  
  
"Why are you helping me?"  
  
Riana turned and smiled as she opened the door, "Get some rest. If you're a good boy and eat all your stew I might tell you." With that she closed the door, leaving Brooklyn alone with his thoughts.  
  
Vatican City: One day later  
  
"It has been confirmed your eminence. The burnt body was indeed Inquisitor Eric Heldane. We have no idea where Inquisitor Hasphant could be at the moment, although his rune sword and his severed right hand, also badly burned, were found at the scene by the local police," reported the aide.  
  
"Damnation!" yelled his superior, slamming his fist violently on the ancient mahogany desk. The aide visibly flinched. It was very unwise to hang around his master when he was upset.  
  
"Your recommendations your eminence?"  
  
His master frowned for a moment before replying, "Alert Inquisitors Thompson, Liang, Rossi and Burke to the threat. Tell them to get to Graz as quickly as possible to conduct their own investigation and make a report."  
  
"Yes your eminence," said the aide, heading to the door.  
  
"One more thing." The aide turned.  
  
"Yes your eminence?"  
  
"This so called "Anointed One," said his master, "He's a gargoyle isn't he?"  
  
"Hasphant was very adamant about that fact your eminence," replied the aide.  
  
"In that case," said the master, "Tell them to take Kill Team Alpha along with them."  
  
The aide raised an eyebrow in astonishment, "The entire team your eminence?"  
  
"The entire team."  
  
The aide bowed respectfully and made his way to the door as quickly as possible. His master watched him go.  
  
"Spineless little worm," he muttered as he lit up a cigar.  
  
Vienna: After sunset  
  
Demona was definitely not in a good mood. She had spent the last six days trying in vain to find any reference to the weapons of Lucifer in her collection of tomes. Even with that annoying Tibbs woman helping her, they were still oblivious to the location or even the names of any.  
  
Fang and Malibu had left several days ago to check up on some of Fang's most reliable sources in person to see if they were hiding anything from him. They hadn't heard from them since.  
  
Her skills at magic had also failed her miserably. Both she and Jezebel had tried to caste a spell of observation to try and find Brooklyn but the mirror they used for the ceremony shattered the instant the last word of the spell was uttered.  
  
Someone, or something, was keeping him very well hidden.  
  
In desperation she had turned to Lexington to try and find anything on them on the Internet. So far his search was fruitless as well.  
  
Goliath and the rest of the clan had grown restless and began patrolling the city while they waited for Demona or one of the others to find anything that could be of some help.  
  
She slammed another book shut and swore to herself, "This is ridiculous! How can we ever hope to find him?"  
  
"By looking," said an icy voice from across the table.  
  
Demona looked up into Jezebel's impassive eyes. She really hated Macbeth's witch, and she was sure the feeling was mutual.  
  
"Would you two please try and get along?" said Lexington as he scrolled through another site on the Internet on his laptop, "Some of us are trying to find something that might help save the world here."  
  
"What are you looking at now?" asked Jezebel.  
  
"I hacked into police files for this country. I'm trying to see if any weird reports were filed recently."  
  
"Good idea."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The minutes of silence that came after each went back to their search dragged into hours. Demona and Jezebel focusing on tome after tome while Lex continued to read more police reports. It was almost three in the morning when Lexington finally found something.  
  
"Hello. That's strange."  
  
Demona and Jezebel's heads shot up from their research.  
  
"What is?" they said almost in unison. Lex gestured for them to come over. They complied and read a report on the screen that Lexington pointed out to them.  
  
It was a very odd report concerning the burned remains of what had only recently been identified as a human male in a playground several miles outside the city of Graz, south of Vienna. What was even odder was the report that this was not the only human remains found in the area. Small pieces of a different human body were found scattered over a rather large radius. Its D.N.A matched a body that was supposedly snatched from Vienna almost a week ago. The report from forensics had suggested someone might have actually used a rocket or grenade on the body for some unknown reason.  
  
"This is excellent work Lexington," said Demona, patting the smaller gargoyle on the shoulder.  
  
"Thanks," said Lex smugly, "It was really difficult to get too. Someone, one of the police's higher-ups probably, really didn't want anyone to know about this. It was in a specially protected part of the police files. It had its own password and everything."  
  
"Definitely the best lead we have got so far," said Jezebel.  
  
Lex looked up at her, "It's the only lead we've got."  
  
"Which is why we are following this one up immediately," said Demona, walking over to the phone and dialling Angela's mobile number, "I'll call the clan back from their patrols immediately. I'll tell my offices here to get one of my company's new armoured vans ready. We should all be in Graz before the sun rises."  
  
Graz: Same day, Midnight  
  
"I thought we were going to wait a week until I was fully healed," complained Brooklyn as he got out of Riana's metallic black Mercedes-Benz.  
  
"We can't," replied the woman hurriedly, slamming the door and locking it, "Remember those two religious nuts that tried to kill you?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well an awful lot more are on their way," said Riana.  
  
"How could you possibly know this?"  
  
"I dreamed it."  
  
Brooklyn just shrugged his shoulders. He'd heard things a lot stranger than that.  
  
Riana had parked as near to the hill as possible to make it easier for Brooklyn to get there. His feet had still not healed completely and so it hurt putting weight on them. His belly and chest had not healed as quickly due to the extent of the damage done to them, he had been forced to take several painkillers just so he could move and breathe properly. There were police cordons around the hill because of the terribly burnt body found there along with bits and pieces of another. There were two police guarding the crime scene, but Riana made short work of them, knocking them out at Brooklyn's insistence instead of slitting their throats as Riana had suggested.  
  
The pair moved to the base of the hill, stepping over the police tape. Brooklyn checked his weapons for the fifth time since he and Riana had set off to get the so called "Lack of Conscience." He had brought his sword and staff, as well as his Desert Eagles, extra clips, some knives and three low- yield grenades from his cache of them. He was wearing a replacement pair of black chinos and a dark green shirt that Riana had bought him while he was unconscious. She got the size for the chinos right, but the shirt was three sizes too big, it was hanging off him very loosely. He was still wearing his long leather coat, despite all the slashes and burn marks across it. The Malus Codicium lay in his inside pocket.  
  
Riana was wearing the black leather body glove, her black gloves and boots, and her flak jacket and was equipped with the same arsenal as before.  
  
"So," said Brooklyn as the stood at the base of the small hill, "How do we get in?"  
  
Riana handed him a small piece of paper with two words written on it, "Cut the palm of your sword hand, place it against the base of the hill and say those words," she explained.  
  
Brooklyn looked at the two words on the paper and then looked back at Riana, "You're kidding right?"  
  
"Nope," said Riana, shaking her head, "Those are the command words."  
  
Brooklyn shook his head as he knelt down at the base of the small hill, pulled out a knife, cut his right palm, rubbed it against the ground and muttered the command words.  
  
"Open Sesame!"  
  
For a moment nothing happened, Brooklyn looked around at Riana and gave her a dirty look, "Are you totally sure those are the command words?"  
  
As if to answer him, the ground suddenly began to shake. The part of the hill in front of Brooklyn exploded outwards, covering the startled gargoyle in dirt and clumps of grass before he could even yelp in surprise, revealing a set of blood red double doors.  
  
Coughing, swearing a blue streak and eyes blazing, Brooklyn pulled himself out of the huge mound of dirt that had buried him. He heard laughter behind him and turned his head to Riana, who was clutching her sides and laughing uncontrollably. If looks could kill, the one Brooklyn gave her could have started a holocaust.  
  
-I'll get her for that,- he promised himself as he got up.  
  
"You know you could have warned me," he said bitterly.  
  
Riana regained a margin of her self-control and smiled at him. "Where would the fun in that be?"  
  
Brooklyn muttered more curses under his breath as he tried to get all the dirt out of his hair. After it became obvious that he wouldn't without the assistance of a hot shower, he yelled several very dirty words at the world in general and picked up his staff from where he had dropped it when the side of the hill fell on him.  
  
"Are you coming?" he asked Riana as he headed to the doors.  
  
"Afraid not," replied Riana, folding her arms, "This is something you have to do alone."  
  
"I have to pick up a gem all by myself?" replied the gargoyle sarcastically. He was fast losing patience with this woman. She hadn't told him a damn thing about her other than she was the protector of this place, the so-called "Keeper of the Conscience." She was really getting on his nerves.  
  
He marched angrily to the double doors; ignoring the pain his feet kept giving him.  
  
"Brooklyn!" yelled Riana.  
  
The gargoyle turned to face her, "What?"  
  
"Remember one thing while you're in there."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
Riana smiled darkly, "Chivalry and honour are dead."  
  
Brooklyn gave her a confused look, "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Riana smiled knowingly at him and refused to say anything more. Brooklyn got the hint and didn't persist, preferring to turn his eyes sky ward for a moment before heading towards the doors. The blood red doors swung open silently as he approached them. He could see a stairway on the other side going downward in a spiral. Bracing himself for anything, he stepped through the doors, which closed behind him without a sound, blocking any light and leaving him in complete darkness.  
  
"Crap."  
  
One by one, torches hanging along the walls burst into flames, illuminating the way down. Ignoring the sudden urge to run like Hell, Brooklyn drew his sword in his right hand while keeping a firm grip on his staff in his left and began to walk down the stairs.  
  
After what seemed like ages but was probably only a few minutes, Brooklyn reached the bottom of the stairs and found himself in an ancient corridor. It was illuminated the same way that the stairs were and only went several meters, ending at a large, plain mahogany door. Sheathing his sword, Brooklyn carefully advanced towards the door, occasionally looking behind him to check no one was going to spring out of a secret passage and jump him. When he reached the door, he looked it over. There was no handle. He gave it an experimental push with his free hand. The door gave way a little. Bracing himself for whatever lay on the other side, Brooklyn gave the door a hard kick. The ancient door flew open as Brooklyn rushed into the room, staff at the ready and sword drawn.  
  
He found himself standing in a huge circular room roughly twenty meters in diameter. The walls were made of white marble while the floor was tiled with black. No torches hung along the walls; there was nothing in the room that looked as if it could provide illumination yet somehow Brooklyn could see the interior perfectly. The walls were totally bare of any form of decoration, on the opposite side of the room from where he had entered, was a mirror. It was imbedded into the wall, beginning at the floor and ending at the ceiling five meters upwards, it was five meters across, making a perfect square. There was no frame, only the reflective glass.  
  
Felling drawn towards the mirror, Brooklyn cautiously walked towards it. When he was two meters from it, the reflective surface suddenly shimmered like liquid, as Brooklyn watched wide-eyed, the reflection in the mirror began to change.  
  
On the other side of the mirror stood a red, beaked gargoyle with horns and white hair. He wore a black body glove tailored perfectly to his thin, muscular form, his chest, shoulders, shins and fore arms were armoured. He held a double-edged long sword in his right hand. The reflection smiled at him. Brooklyn gasped and took several steps back.  
  
"Okay. What the Hell is going on! Who the Hell are you?" he felt a little stupid asking the last part, but he couldn't help himself.  
  
"I'm you dumb ass," replied the reflection, "Or at least. What you could have been if you had just lightened up a little and been more forgiving."  
  
"Hey fuck you!" yelled Brooklyn, his eyes flaring, "Demona deserved everything that was coming to her!"  
  
"Says you."  
  
"Yes! Says me!"  
  
The reflection shook his head sadly, "Look at yourself. Look what you've become. You're a monster Brooklyn. A seething ball of hate with wings."  
  
"Don't you dare!" screamed Brooklyn, "Don't you dare presume you can stand there and judge me! Someone had to punish her for all the pain she's caused over the years!"  
  
"You shouldn't be so hasty in your judgement either," snapped the reflection, "She has been through Hell for the last thousand years Brooklyn."  
  
"Yeah, your right. And whose fault was it? Huh?" raged Brooklyn, "It was no one's fault, but her own! Because of her my clan has been slaughtered! She's killed and maimed who knows how many over the years! She created the fucking Hunter! She's one of the reasons we are on the verge of extinction!"  
  
"That's all in the past Brooklyn. Why can't you accept that she's changed? Why can't you find it in your heart to forgive her?"  
  
"SHE'S EVIL!" howled Brooklyn desperately, tears of rage were forming in his eyes, and his entire body was shaking violently.  
  
"Bullshit," said the reflection calmly, "I can see in your eyes that you know it's bullshit too. This isn't about what she did hundreds of years ago. It's about what she did to you, to us."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"You aren't a fool Brooklyn. You had some idea what she was going to do with the Grimorium."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"That was just as much your fault as it was Demona's."  
  
"SHUT UP!" screamed Brooklyn at the very top of his voice, his scream echoing off the walls and ceiling.  
  
His entire body was quivering with barely restrained rage, he held his sword and staff so tightly that his hands began to pale from a lack of blood travelling to them. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.  
  
"Give me the gem you bastard," he whispered dangerously, his eyes beginning to flare. His reflection's gaze hardened. It stepped forward through the mirror, entering reality. Brooklyn took several steps back, his staff and sword ready for the fight to come. His alter ego looked him over as he walked to Brooklyn's left.  
  
"Your injured," it said flatly.  
  
"Why should that matter?"  
  
"There is no honour in fighting someone who is injured and can't defend themselves properly."  
  
"I can kick your ass any day of the week," replied Brooklyn. His reflection turned reality chuckled before his face-hardened.  
  
"You're out of control Brooklyn. Turn around, walk out the door and give yourself up to Mal and the others before it's too late."  
  
"No. I will have my revenge first," replied Brooklyn, his eyes flaring like twin suns.  
  
"Do you know who I really am Brooklyn?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm the personification of your fucking conscience," said the alter ego angrily, "You know, that little voice inside of your head that you ignored ever since you started reading that damn book. It's manipulating you, it's manipulating your hate to fulfil its mission."  
  
"Your talking through your tail my friend," replied Brooklyn, "Nothing controls me."  
  
"If you won't listen to reason," said Brooklyn's conscience, his own eyes flaring, "Then I have no choice, but to take over."  
  
He raised his sword in a knight's salute before he lunged, swinging his sword in a furious arc. Brooklyn parried the attack with his shorter Katana before spinning on the balls of his feet, swinging his staff to try and connect with his opponent's skull.  
  
Brooklyn roared in fury as his alter ego parried the attack easily and jumped back several feet from him. Both circled each other, searching for an opening.  
  
"You can't win," taunted the conscience, "The painkillers are gonna wear out soon. I can wait until then."  
  
"You'll be dead before I even start breathing funny again."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
Brooklyn suddenly launched himself at his conscience, surprising it. He forced it back as he executed alternating attacks with his sword and staff, swinging, thrusting and parrying any desperate counters his conscience tried to make.  
  
His conscience swore and dived below a downward slash from Brooklyn's Katana. The sword cut into the marble, cracking it. Brooklyn swore then and pulled the deadly blade out and turned to face his so-called better self. They stared at each other for a moment before continuing.  
  
Their weapons locked as both made mad slashes at each other with their swords, they broke and continued their fight along the black marble floor.  
  
After several minutes Brooklyn's alter ego began to gain the advantage as the pain in Brooklyn's chest began to increase, making it harder for him to breathe. He began to slow down while his conscience showed no sign of tiring. It made a faint thrust, but spun on the balls of his feet, making a lethal slash to Brooklyn's left. The gargoyle tried to block the attack with his staff, but the weapon was knocked out of his hand from the force of the blow, landing and rolling across the floor, stopping several meters away from the combatants.  
  
Brooklyn stumbled back, swearing and making desperate blocks and parries as his conscience took its turn to drive him back.  
  
"You can't win Brooklyn, give up!"  
  
"Never!"  
  
"You stubborn fool!" roared the conscience, "I'm not the bad guy here. You are! Give up! I can fix this mess you call a life. I might even be able to get Goliath to forgive us and let us back in the clan."  
  
"I won't beg forgiveness from that bastard!" yelled Brooklyn, "It's him who's in the wrong God dammit!" He roared and launched another attack at his conscience, letting his hate for what Goliath and his banishment had done to him fuel his aching muscles. His conscience smiled as it blocked all of Brooklyn's desperate attacks.  
  
Suddenly, it launched one of its own, knocking Brooklyn's Katana out of his hand before running him through, sliding the sword into Brooklyn's already bandaged belly until the razor sharp blade came out of his back and the hilt was all that hadn't gone through.  
  
Brooklyn screamed in agony, his insides felt as if they were on fire, blood was coming up his throat, flowing into his mouth and through his clenched teeth, it was incredibly difficult to breath. His legs couldn't support his weight anymore, but his opponent held him up. Brooklyn looked into his eyes, hazel, and full of pity. It pulled the sword out of his stomach and let him go at the same time. Brooklyn tried to scream, but only managed a moan in pain as his legs gave out and collapsed to his knees, his hands pressed against his stomach to try and slow the river of blood gushing out. His conscience turned and walked several feet from him before turning around again to face its defeated foe.  
  
"There is no disgrace in losing to me Brooklyn. You fought with tremendous courage and honour," it said calmly.  
  
It continued to say something else, but Brooklyn wasn't listening anymore. Something had clicked in the back of his head, what Riana had told him before he went down the stairs to claim the gem.  
  
-Chivalry and honour are dead.-  
  
Brooklyn looked up at his conscience. It was still yammering away about how this was for the best and stuff like that.  
  
-If I really am the bad guy here. Then I think I better get into character before he bores me to death.-  
  
Smiling evilly, Brooklyn whipped out his Desert Eagle pistols from his shoulder holsters and shot his conscience in its left thigh. It screamed in pain and fell to his knees and then doubled over after another round entered its gut. It looked up at Brooklyn in total disbelief.  
  
"I.I.thought you had retained at least some honour?"  
  
Brooklyn aimed for in between its eyes, "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.  
  
"I could have made things better for you. For us."  
  
Brooklyn shook his head slowly, "Not while Oberon still lives."  
  
"I.pity you."  
  
"Keep your pity for yourself."  
  
"This isn't over you cheating bastard," it snarled.  
  
"I know," replied Brooklyn before he pulled the trigger.  
  
The gun's roar echoed across the room as the bullet crashed through his conscience's skull and exploded out the other side of its head in a flurry of blood, skull fragments, and gore, burying itself into the marble wall. His conscience crumpled to the floor, a pool of blood forming around its head.  
  
Brooklyn dropped his pistols, he was panting like a dog even though his lungs felt like they would explode at any minute. His entire body ached; he could feel his strength being drained as more blood poured from his wound. He was so tired he was sure he'd black out any second. He started feeling dizzy and light headed while his vision became blurred. He fell over on to his side and then rolled on to his back as he felt his body begin to heal itself, the blood flowing out of his stomach and back stopping and slowly knitting back together.  
  
He lay there for roughly ten minutes while the hole in his belly closed up, in the meantime the painkillers wore off. He swore as the awful pain in his chest, stomach and legs flared up again.  
  
Just then he heard something. It sounded almost like flowing water.  
  
He turned his head in the direction of the sound and found that it was the mirror. It was rippling as something came into focus inside it.  
  
It was a large amber coloured gemstone connected to a silver chain. It appeared to be floating in mid air on the other side of the mirror's liquid surface.  
  
Brooklyn forced himself on to his feet, ignoring the agonising protest his body made. He knew this was his one chance and he'd be damned if he missed it. He staggered towards the mirror until he was a few inches from the surface.  
  
Without even thinking he plunged his hand in and grabbed for it, his talon ended fingers wrapping around the enormous stone. It felt reassuringly warm to his touch. He felt like his hand was under water. He wrenched his arm back, tearing the stone from its hiding place and looked at it.  
  
-It must be at least a hundred carats,- he thought, using his extremely limited knowledge of jewellery to gauge the gem's worth.  
  
He could feel its power emanating as it lay idly in his hand. It was oval shaped and appeared to glow when it came into contact with his skin. He got a shiver down his spine when looked into it. He was awestruck by it. The very thought that God's most prized angel had worn this, and that it was his now and forever made his heart soar.  
  
He felt overwhelmed by a desire to put the chain around his neck. To show the world that he was the Anointed, the Chosen, Vengance incarnate.  
  
He couldn't resist its pull any longer. It was his now. His precious, precious gem. He placed it around his neck, letting the amber rest against his chest.  
  
Suddenly he felt much better, he couldn't feel pain any longer, and he could feel his body repairing itself at incredible speed. In under a minute he was completely healed, only a few scars remained of the grievous injuries he had sustained over the past week.  
  
The change he felt wasn't just physical. He couldn't hear that annoying voice in the back of his head any longer, the one that claimed to be his conscience. He could feel the gem opening his mind, sweeping away the cobwebs and the dust. He was thinking clearly for the first time in his life. In one instant, the gem showed him many things, the present, the past, and a myriad of potential futures.  
  
Lastly, his eyes widened in astonishment, as it showed him something he would never had believed unless he had seen it with his own eyes.  
  
A few minutes later  
  
Riana paced up and down in front of the entrance of the stairs.  
  
Brooklyn had been down there for almost an hour. What was taking him so long?  
  
She stopped in her tracks as she wondered if he had been defeated. She had pushed him into this when he was still injured.  
  
-I sure hope he followed my advice.-  
  
"I did."  
  
Riana spun around and saw Brooklyn at the entrance, the doors closed behind him.  
  
"Sorry I took so long," he apologised, "I met with very stubborn resistance."  
  
"You have the gem?"  
  
Brooklyn pointed to the oversized Amber coloured jewel on a silver chain around his neck. "I have the lack of conscience that is necessary for the completion of my task."  
  
"I knew you were the real thing," said Riana, "I could feel it in my blood."  
  
"Your blood is very intelligent. Now we must collect Sin and be on our way. We have much work to do."  
  
"Really what kind of work?"  
  
"I've gotta collect the weapons if I'm going to kick some ass right?"  
  
They headed back to the car and drove from the crime scene as quickly as possible while the hill closed up the gap revealing the doors again. In less than ten minutes the hill looked totally undisturbed.  
  
"So," said Riana, "Did it show anything?"  
  
Brooklyn continued to look out of the window as the Mercedes sped down the highway on the way to Feldbach.  
  
"Everything," he answered eventually.  
  
"Anything interesting?"  
  
Brooklyn turned his head slowly and looked her in the eyes.  
  
"Yes. It did. It showed me something utterly incredible."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
Brooklyn smiled darkly as his eyes glowed a disturbingly pale blue, "It showed me the truth."  
  
To be continued.  
  
Well? Like it? Hate it? Please tell me! Huge thanks to Storyseeker for beta reading and giving me advice on this episode, you rock! Extra big thanks to anyone out there who likes the series so far, you guys rock too! Sadly it may be a while before the next part is out. *sighs* I hate school. Remember, ideas, advice, comments etc. welcome! Hell I'll even accept flames if they are reasonable and contain no less than 10 swear words.  
  
Darkness 


	10. Faith

Faith  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
Vienna International Airport  
  
Inquisitor Zhuge Liang walked calmly along the throngs of people as he awaited the arrival of his comrades in arms for this particular assignment.  
  
He was forty-nine years of age and came from the extreme West of China, from a town called Karamay. He had light blue eyes, a compassionate face, neat black hair and a small beard growing on his chin. He was tall, quite thin and walked with a slight limp in his left leg. He wore a very deep purple shirt, dark green chinos, brown shoes and a long grey trench coat.  
  
As he walked along through the crowds to the cargo delivery area, he listened in on what some of the masses were thinking.  
  
-I hope he likes the presents that I brought him. -  
  
-I wonder how much a taxi to Feldbach will cost? -  
  
-Cybil will sure be surprised I came home a few days early. -  
  
-I hope Karl doesn't find out I cheated on him. -  
  
-Where are my damn keys? -  
  
-Hello Zhuge. -  
  
Liang turned to face the pleasant face of Inquisitor Edmund Burke.  
  
Burke was English, his accent betraying his aristocratic upbringing. He was in his late thirties, had piercing ice-blue eyes, neat brown hair, a very proper looking moustache, pale skin and an aristocratic nose. He was barely an inch taller than Zhuge. He wore a brown business suit with a white shirt and brown tie and carried a very official looking black leather bound briefcase in one hand while his long raincoat rested on the other.  
  
The two men regarded each other for a moment before bursting out laughing and embracing.  
  
"It's been a long time hasn't it old friend?"  
  
"Indeed Edmund," replied Zhuge as they pulled away and looked each other over, "You look very well. I hope you weren't called away from anything important to the cause?"  
  
"Of course not old chap," replied Edmund laughing, "I was trying to make the White Rhino extinct actually." He smiled at his old friend's disapproving look. "I'm joking."  
  
"I sincerely hope so."  
  
The two walked, side by side, as they continued to talk of old times. They had been friends for almost twenty years but they hadn't seen each other for almost three.  
  
"So, where's Paul Zhuge?"  
  
"He was stationed at the Vatican when he was assigned to this task. I believe he has the responsibility of escorting our.equipment."  
  
"Ah, I see. So what kind of "Equipment" are we talking about here?"  
  
"Kill Team Alpha," whispered Zhuge.  
  
Burke's eyes widened, "My God. So it wasn't a typo in the briefing." He looked at the ground for a moment as they proceeded along, "How many?"  
  
"All six."  
  
"This is serious isn't it?  
  
"Apocalypse serious."  
  
"Bugger."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
The pair continued along the terminals until they came to the cargo delivery area, where they found a very flustered Italian screaming rather loudly at a group of men trying to load some very large crates into a truck.  
  
"Lazy Austrian Bastards! Get your backs into it!"  
  
"Still as charming as ever, eh Paul?"  
  
Paul Rossi, Inquisitor, turned about and grinned enormously at Burke and Liang.  
  
"It's about fucking time you two got here!" he roared as he grabbed them both in a bear hug. He released them after almost breaking both their ribs and patted them on the shoulders.  
  
He was huge man, immensely well built. He had a primitive brow, suggesting a somewhat stupid persona, but his jade green eyes sparkled with a fierce intelligence. He was in his late twenties, with a shaven head, a flat jaw and a pair of scars running down his right eye. He was wearing a black shirt, covered by a dark green waistcoat, black trousers and boots, topped off by a heavy black leather coat that fell to his knees. Despite the rather hot weather, he wasn't even sweating. Like most large men, he was quite gentle to those around him, although he did have a bad habit of swearing almost every time he spoke.  
  
"How the Hell have you two assholes been?"  
  
"Grand."  
  
"I am quite well thank you."  
  
"Great!" yelled Paul as he turned his attention to the airport staff again; "You total assholes! What the Hell do you think you're doing? It's supposed to be the other way around! You stupid Austrian mother-"  
  
"Paul," yelled Edmund suddenly.  
  
The giant turned, "Yes?"  
  
"Where's Faith?"  
  
Rossi shrugged his shoulders, "Beats me. Apparently she was already in Austria when she was called for this mission. At St Viet, if I'm not mistaken. A total shit hole as I understand it."  
  
"Why isn't she here to meet us?" asked Zhuge.  
  
"She was just finishing a minor case she had when she was called."  
  
"I see," replied Zhuge, "So, who's she killing anyway?"  
  
"Some director of pornography who is supposed to be a leader of some Satanic pleasure cult."  
  
They all stood staring off into space as they thought of their missing compatriot. They all shuddered.  
  
"We could just call her and head to Graz and meet up with her there," suggested Edmund.  
  
"Definitely!" said Paul a little too quickly, "Can't hang around here all day when there's a world that need's saving."  
  
Both Paul and Edmund quickly turned to Zhuge. They were both smiling at him. He didn't have to read their minds to know what they wanted.  
  
"I am not calling her."  
  
"Oh come Zhuge, be a sport."  
  
"No."  
  
"Please?"  
  
Zhuge grumbled to himself as he fumbled in his coat for his mobile, "I hate talking to her. Why can't one of you do it?"  
  
"She hates me," replied Burke.  
  
"She scares me," answered Paul.  
  
"Cowards," mumbled Zhuge as he dialled her number.  
  
  
  
St Viet, Austria  
  
"So," said Inquisitor Faith Thompson as she lit a cigarette, "Any more members you've neglected to tell me about?"  
  
"No," came a voice, which sounded to be in a monumental amount of pain just below her.  
  
Faith smiled as she took a puff. She had infiltrated the cult three days ago and had poisoned every single member today. The seven other members of the cult, four women and three men were sprawled all around her, naked and very dead. She had been required to bring the wine on the night of her initiation. Where all the other members had planned to ravage her. She had brought two bottles of red wine, one laced with cyanide, poured drinks for everybody except for herself and the leader out of the poisoned bottle, then turned to her own glass and the leader's.  
  
She had then broken the leader's arms and busted his kneecaps while everybody else dropped like flies all around her.  
  
The leader was currently lying on his stomach with Faith sitting on his back. She had taken out her sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun from her car and had laid it across her lap as she began her inquiries. She had said he wouldn't die as long as she kept him supplied with answers. So far he was doing a spectacular job.  
  
"Please don't kill me," whimpered the cult leader.  
  
"I shall do with you as I see fit," snapped Faith, sliding one of her homemade rounds into the shotgun.  
  
The man whimpered pitifully, Faith stamped on his hand unsympathetically, earning a howl of agony from the man. She slid another round into her shotgun, smiling serenely.  
  
"Apparently I have to give you the last rights," she said in a matter of fact tone, "However there is a mild problem there you see. I'm not a priest, I am an Inquisitor. Priests save your soul the easy way, while I do it my way."  
  
She took a puff of her cigarette while cocking the gun, "I also decide if you deserve to be saved while in the field. Frankly, I have decided that you don't deserve to be saved."  
  
The man began to bawl like a child, as he realised Faith was deadly serious about this. He was going to die today.  
  
She was going to kill him.  
  
Faith pressed the nozzles of the gun against the back of the man's head, taking care to get to the point where the spine and skull met. She thought she could hear him muttering the "Our Father" in between sobs.  
  
She smiled.  
  
She rubbed her slender index finger against the trigger and began to slowly apply pressure. She whispered a psalm, so low it was barely audible.  
  
The room was suddenly filled with the ringing of a mobile phone.  
  
"Typical," murmured the Inquisitor as she began searching for her phone in her coat. After a few moments she found it and switched it on.  
  
"Yes? Who is it."  
  
The caller answered. Faith's features became contorted in anger.  
  
"Oh.Hello Hell spawn."  
  
There was a rather angry response on the other end of the phone.  
  
"Yes.yes.I see.yes.yes fuck you too.hmm.I know.I'm a little busy at the minute you know.oh I get it.I'll meet you in Graz by this time tomorrow. Goodbye."  
  
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and stood up.  
  
"Apparently I am needed elsewhere," she said with a hint of irritation in her voice. She strolled to the door. She heard the cult leader sigh in relief. She stopped suddenly and turned around to face the ruined man, aiming for his head with the shotgun.  
  
"Au Revoir."  
  
She pulled the trigger hard, the gun buckling in her hand as both barrels roared, spewing forth fire and death from the nozzles. The special rounds she had selected to deliver this righteous kill were of her own personal stock. Something she made as a hobby.  
  
They were called inferno rounds.  
  
The cultist's head jerked back violently as both rounds broke through his face, rendering him unidentifiable, barely an instant later, his head detonated as the bullets exploded from where they were lodged in his head. The resultant flames quickly spread across his robed body, engulfing it and spreading across the floor to the remains of the rest of the cult.  
  
By that time, Faith was walking to her car.  
  
It was a Ford Escort, an older model with a burgundy paint job.  
  
She paced towards it quickly. She was in her mid-thirties, her hair was raven black and fell past her shoulders, and it was moving slightly with the wind. Her eyes were a piercing shade of green, she had wrinkles on her forehead from frowning too much, and she had a small nose and full lips that hadn't seen lipstick in almost a decade. She was thin yet muscular, resembling a gymnast. She wore a black blouse, black jeans, boots and a black leather jacket. She opened the door and threw the shotgun under the passenger seat before getting in. She turned the key, smiling as the engine roared into life. The cult met on a small private estate twenty miles outside town so as to reduce their chances of being discovered.  
  
It was doubtful anyone would notice anything was wrong until the fire spread to the rest of the household, making it visible to the townspeople in the morning from the column of smoke.  
  
By then she would be long gone.  
  
Humming "Ave Maria" to herself, Faith drove to the entrance of the estate, out onto the road and on her way to Graz.  
  
Graz, Austria  
  
There were still police cordons around the hill with the playground on top where the remains of several people had been found. The police were now getting more suspicious that there was something significant about the area when the two men guarding it had been incapacitated last night. While the officers were going through the surrounding area with a fine toothcomb, two women were watching them at a distance with binoculars.  
  
One woman was in her late sixties, with a kind, wrinkled face and neat white hair, she had a large red woollen coat that fell to her ankles and appeared to be home made. The other woman looked to be in her late thirties, with fire red hair and a slender figure; she was wearing a dark green business suit with a white blouse.  
  
"Can you feel the magical backwash?" asked Dominique Destine.  
  
"Of course I can you miserable cow bitch," Jezebel Tibbs in a conversational tone of voice. Dominique looked at the woman, trying to repress the urge she felt to throttle this witch.  
  
"Whatever happened here, we were too late to stop it," said Dominique.  
  
"Good thing you're here," said Jezebel sarcastically, "Without your keen powers of observation I could have been here for days before I figured that out."  
  
Dominique put her binoculars down slowly before turning to face the servant of her late foe, Macbeth.  
  
"You do realise that this is your entire fault you stupid old woman," she growled.  
  
Jezebel calmly put her binoculars on a pick nick table near her before meeting Demona's look head on.  
  
"If anyone is to blame here Demona. It's you."  
  
"I wasn't the one who believed Brooklyn could handle the Codicium."  
  
"No. You were the one who put all that hatred in his heart. The Codicium fuelled that hatred and is now using it for it's own ends."  
  
Demona glared at the old lady menacingly, Jezebel never flinched.  
  
"Why did you call for my assistance woman?"  
  
"Two reasons."  
  
"Two?"  
  
"Yes. My first reason was that you have had first hand experience with the Malus Codicium and some of the magic in it, which would make you useful."  
  
"And the second reason?"  
  
Jezebel looked at her coldly, "The second reason is none of your business."  
  
That said, she turned and headed for the armoured van.  
  
Feldbach, Austria  
  
The basement was filled with screams of inhuman agony as flashes of pale blue light engulfed the trapped daemon host. It had been covered in chains with dark talismans attached, trapping its power and amplifying the pain it felt.  
  
~Please Master stop!~ it begged through tortured screams.  
  
"Quite pathetic when it isn't trying to kill people. Don't you agree Riana?" asked Brooklyn. He was sitting on a couch just in front of the bound daemon, a dirty smile on his face with his staff, glowing in his hands as it channelled his hatred of the creature before him into destructive energy.  
  
Riana was standing to Brooklyn's left, a sadistic smile on her own face as Sin hovered in the air, going into spasms and howling like an animal.  
  
"You've given us the location of the resting places of the three weapons," said Brooklyn, looking board suddenly. "Now tell me where the place of Trials is so I can get this show on the road."  
  
~I'm supposed to lead you there Master!~ howled the daemon.  
  
"You're also supposed to protect him," replied Riana, "What I found you doing to him didn't grab me as being all that protective if you ask me."  
  
"I won't ask you again," said Brooklyn, "If you want to exist at all after this is all over then you better fucking tell me." To emphasise his point he channelled more dark magic through the staff and at Sin, causing the daemon host to scream all the louder.  
  
~All right! All right I'll tell you! Just make it stop!~  
  
"First tell me. Then I will make it stop."  
  
Sin told him through it's agonised screams. Brooklyn noted down the location before standing up.  
  
"Well done Sin," said Brooklyn, "And now I shall make it stop as promised."  
  
His eyes flared with a pale blue light as he pointed the staff at the daemon and began to mutter a passage of the Malus Codicium in the daemon's tongue. Riana ducked behind the couch as the raven end of the staff began to glow first blue, then a fiery white. A ball of magical energy began to build up as Brooklyn continued speaking. Sin looked on in horror as it realised what he was about to do.  
  
~No Master! Don't send me back there! I beg of you!~  
  
Brooklyn smiled evilly as he completed the spell, "See you in Hell Sin," he cackled as he launched the energy ball at the daemon.  
  
The ball hit the host body, that of the late Inquisitor Emmanuel Hasphant, directly in the chest. It entered the host and then for a moment, nothing happened. It was in that moment that Brooklyn chose to join Riana behind the couch. Barely a second after the gargoyle had ducked behind the couch, the host body detonated.  
  
There was a blinding flash as the room shook with the power of the banishment spell. The incorporeal daemon, freed from its host, screamed in terror as a hole in reality opened up behind it, a portal into the dark realm.  
  
~I WILL HAVE REVENGE MORTAL!~ howled Sin, as it was dragged into the portal by a seething mass of tentacles, each seething blood and puss. With a final scream, the daemon was dragged through and the hole closed up behind it.  
  
Brooklyn peered over the couch, a horrible grin forming across his lips.  
  
"That fucking rocked!" he yelled, throwing his hands up.  
  
Riana got up and gave him an odd look; "Sometimes you act like a total fucking kid. You know that?"  
  
"Whatever," said Brooklyn, getting up and brushing a piece of colon out of his hair, "You know where that village in the Czech Republic is that Sin mentioned?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Good," replied Brooklyn, "Here's the plan, we get a shower and some new clothes and then we head out to.The Village."  
  
Wolfsberg, Austria: 2 Hours later  
  
The sun had set almost an hour ago in the small town of Wolfsberg. It was a small town on the way to Graz, just off the motorway.  
  
Faith stepped out of her car and headed to the bank to make a withdrawal of the local currency so she could by some petrol and get some lunch. She took out her coat from the car as a very cold wind blew across the street. She looked up dismally at the clouds. It was going to snow soon.  
  
  
  
"Fang, its freezing," complained Mal as he looked up at the sky, "Can't we just use the spell Jez gave us to turn human so we can talk to this friend of yours inside where it's probably warmer?" Mal shivered. He had made the mistake of wearing just another of his Hawaiian shirts and a pair of sand coloured slacks.  
  
The Cougar mutate remained silent, as he had done for the past ten minutes. They were perched on top of the Church in the town, opposite the bank. They had tailed one of Fang's old associates, a gentleman by the name of Frederick Van Litz.  
  
"How do you know this guy anyway?" asked Mal, hoping to start Fang on one of his tales of when he was a mercenary for hire. Some of them were pretty exciting.  
  
"We used to work together," said Fang, still staring down at the entrance to the bank where Frederick and three other men had entered. If what he suspected was going down, then he and Mal would have to wait outside for him.  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
An alarm bell sounded inside the bank as four men burst through the doors, carrying guns and wearing hoods over their heads.  
  
"That," said Fang as he spread his wings and flew towards the armed robbers.  
  
"Figures," chattered Mal, as he dived after his friend.  
  
  
  
Faith was twenty meters from the entrance from the bank when all Hell broke loose.  
  
Firstly, an alarm bell rang inside the bank, followed barely a second later by four armed and masked men bursting out of the door, each holding large sacks of money. A dark green car screeched to a halt several meters away from her, awaiting the robbers. Her hands dove into the inside pockets of her coat as she began to fumble for a weapon.  
  
One of the robbers saw her reach into her coat to pull something out, he brought his weapon, a berretta, to bear on her, but Faith was faster.  
  
She drew a pair of wooden tonfa from her coat while dropping and rolling to her right with lightning speed as the robber pulled the trigger. The pistol roared as the 9mm round smashed into a wall on the other side of the street, sending pedestrians screaming and running for cover.  
  
Faith rolled to her feat and kicked the gun out of the man's hand, he tried to swing for her, but she dived below the fist and hit him in the chin with a right uppercut using the shorter end of her tonfa. The man's head snapped up violently before he fell on to his back, unconscious. Faith smiled grimly, she was sure she had knocked at least a half dozen teeth out.  
  
The other stared at her for a second in surprise before they reacted, pointing their guns at her.  
  
A horrifying roar filled the air as two blurs, one brown, the other light green, swooped down from the sky and crashed into the group of men, bringing them all to the ground, unconscious. The two creatures stood and looked over the robbers.  
  
Both had wings.  
  
"Gargoyles," said Faith, taken by surprise. One of the gargoyles, who was wearing a black woollen sweater and jeans, with brown fur and whose head resembled that of a cougar's, looked in her direction, he was about to say something when he looked at her face.  
  
His eyes widened in shock and his mouth drooped open.  
  
"Faith?"  
  
Faith raised an eyebrow questioningly. How did this gargoyle know her name?  
  
She looked into his emerald coloured eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about those eyes.  
  
"Oh my God."  
  
  
  
Mal finished checking to see if the last of the robbers was out cold when he heard the car that had been waiting for the robbers, a dark green saloon, speed off down the street at breakneck speed.  
  
"Fang! The last of them's getting away!" he yelled, expecting the mutate to blast out the tires of the car. But nothing happened.  
  
"Fang?"  
  
Mal looked around to where his friend was and raised an eyebrow curiously. Fang was standing there, staring at that lady who had helped them take out the bank robbers. The woman was walking slowly up to him, staring also.  
  
"Peter?" she whispered.  
  
Fang smiled nervously at her, "Um.hi Faith," he said slowly, "Long time no- "  
  
Fang never finished the sentence. Faith had given him a hard kick in the balls by then.  
  
A small apartment block: Twenty minutes later  
  
Fang clutched his privates tenderly as Mal and Faith were talking to each other. He was lying on the bed in the apartment he and Mal had rented in the town.  
  
By the time Mal had pulled Faith off of him, the police had arrived, making it impossible to grab Frederick and take him with them. Instead Faith had demanded that Mal take her with them or she'd tell the police gargoyles had tried to assist the robbers. Mal had no choice, but to agree and had slung her over his shoulders before he and Fang scaled the wall and glided off.  
  
"So let me get this straight," said Mal, looking at Faith suspiciously, "He was your old boyfriend?"  
  
"Oh much more than that," said Faith, she had stopped screaming all sorts of imaginative obscenities in half a dozen languages at Fang several minutes ago. When Mal had made her a quick cup of tea and put a very generous amount of sugar in it to try and calm her down. It had worked.  
  
"I was his fiancée."  
  
Mal's eyes widened, as he stared at her for a moment before he turned to look at Fang, "Why did you never tell me about her?"  
  
"Part of my life that I really don't like to remember," moaned Fang, as he tried to sit up.  
  
"You would say that wouldn't you," said Faith coldly. She sipped her tea before speaking again. "After all. You did jilt me at the altar."  
  
"He said no?" Mal asked.  
  
"Not in so many words," said Faith bitterly, "he just didn't show up at the Chapel."  
  
"Fang! How could you!" yelled the clone, staring at his friend in shock, "I know you've done some pretty low things in your life, but this one's got to be the worst."  
  
"Don't tell me you're taking her side!" replied the mutate, trying to get off the bed to defend his honour, but falling right back down on it as the pain started flaring up again in his lower regions. It had been so much easier to ignore it when the cops had been chasing him. "She never told you why."  
  
"Good point," said Faith, finishing her tea, "Why exactly did you leave me standing at the altar?"  
  
Fang looked deeply embarrassed for a moment as he tried to dredge up the memories that he and Faith had made together, trying to find a way to sugar coat the truth.  
  
When that failed, he made the mistake of brutal honesty.  
  
"You freaked me out."  
  
Faith's left eyebrow began twitching erratically as she stared coldly at him, "Would you mind repeating that?"  
  
Fang gulped as he remembered that honesty was never the best policy where Faith was concerned.  
  
"You.you.freaked me out," he whispered timidly.  
  
"And how exactly did I freak you out?"  
  
"We'd known each other for two months!"  
  
"So? Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight?"  
  
"Your family hated me!"  
  
"Didn't stop you sneaking into my house at night did it?"  
  
"Um.don't you think we were moving just a little too fast?"  
  
"If you'd had the balls to say that then I would have slowed down," replied Faith bitterly, she turned to Mal, "first man I ever loved. The man who took my virginity from me. The son of a bitch that gave me my first kiss. What an asshole."  
  
She continued staring at the clone, as if expecting him to say something. Mal glanced over to Fang, who was also looking at him in a similar way.  
  
-Oh fuck they want me to take sides!-  
  
"Um.um.um.who's hungry?" said the clone, leaping out of his stool so fast he knocked it over, "Tell you what! I'll go get us some lunch!"  
  
"It's nine O'clock."  
  
"Dinner then," replied the clone as he rushed into the next room, slamming the door just a little too hard on his way out.  
  
"So," said Faith after several very long minutes of silence, "How'd you get like that?"  
  
"Mad scientist," replied Fang, the pain in his genitals wasn't as bad now, allowing him to sit up on the bed without too much discomfort.  
  
"I see," said Faith, "are you stuck like that permanently?"  
  
"Ah, no. This guy I used to know gave me this spell that changes me back into a human."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Fang couldn't help, but feel a little worried. Faith was taking all of this remarkably well.  
  
"So.are you a sort of practitioner of the dark arts or anything?" she asked, she sounded almost hopeful.  
  
"Only spell I've ever used in my life."  
  
"Oh," she said sadly.  
  
"Why?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
"It would give me an excuse to kill you."  
  
This pretty much killed the conversation for quite some time. During which, Fang's pain eventually dissipated, allowing him to get some of the tea Mal had made for their guest. When he offered Faith some more, she politely refused and promptly got up and poured some more for herself as soon as the mutate had sat down.  
  
After what seemed like decades, Mal eventually returned, in human form, with a pile of Chinese takeouts and several six-packs of beer.  
  
The road to.The Village  
  
"Get out of the fucking way Grandma!" screamed Riana, as she accelerated her Mercedes to over a hundred miles per hour in order to pass an elderly couple, in front of a saloon, just in front of them. When she was level with them, she flipped the old lady off before pulling out in front of them, narrowly missing an on coming Mac-truck down the other side of the road by several inches. She smiled triumphantly and looked over to Brooklyn in the passenger seat.  
  
Brooklyn was in human form, he was frightfully pale, and his hands were clamping on to the dashboard in front of him just a little too hard. He looked over to her.  
  
"Would you please slow down?" he asked, his voice was a little panicked.  
  
"Oh come on Brook. Don't tell me your afraid?"  
  
"Of dying, no. Of being mutilated and suffering all sorts of horrible agony.yes."  
  
"I promise I won't crash."  
  
"I don't care, slow down."  
  
"What's that? Speed up?"  
  
Brooklyn gave her a look of terror as she floored the accelerator. The engine roared as if the world was about to come to an end, as the speed dial registered that they were now doing one hundred and sixty.  
  
"SLOW DOWN WOMAN!" screamed the gargoyle turned human, as Riana began darting between lanes, dodging trucks, cars, vans and buses at break neck speed. "ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH? SLOW DOWN!"  
  
"I live for the moment."  
  
"You won't be living much longer if you don't slow the fuck down you stupid bitch!" replied Brooklyn. "SLOW DOWN!"  
  
Brooklyn's eyes bulged as Riana took her eyes off the road and looked at him calmly, "What's that?" she asked innocently.  
  
Brooklyn drew one of his Desert Eagle pistols from his coat and shoved the nozzle in her face.  
  
"Slow the fuck down," he said very slowly.  
  
"Okay," said Riana. She took her foot off the accelerator and slammed it on the brakes. Brooklyn yelped as the car began spinning in circles along the road before eventually skidding along into the emergency lane where cars that broke down while on the road could be left while the owners phoned for help.  
  
They sat there for several seconds as Brooklyn tried to regain control of his breathing. When he succeeded, he gave Riana a cold look before addressing her.  
  
"How long will it take us to reach.The Village?"  
  
"What? Going the speed of these pansies?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Riana thought for a moment, "Two days. It's in the Republic's extreme northern border."  
  
"With Germany?"  
  
"Poland actually."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"We'll also have to go through Graz."  
  
"I see."  
  
They sat there for several moments; each lost in their own thoughts.  
  
"You know what," said Brooklyn.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I know absolutely nothing about you."  
  
"You know my name, don't you?"  
  
"Well.yeah but-"  
  
"Then that's all that you need to know," snapped Riana as she turned the ignition key, "And now with your permission. Can we please be on our way?"  
  
"Do you promise to drive with a little more self control?"  
  
Riana sighed, "Yes sir."  
  
"Good. And call me Brook."  
  
Malibu and Fang's apartment  
  
After Malibu had brought the takeouts the atmosphere had relaxed considerably. So much so in fact that they had called room service several times to order more beer.  
  
Fang had his twelfth beer of the night and was now officially smashed. He had tried to get into a conversation with Faith, who had taken five bottles of beer, but had passed out halfway through telling her that whatever had happened to her breasts over the years was making him reconsider that whole dumping incident he had put her through.  
  
That just left Faith and Mal to talk. They were getting along quite well too. Mal was doing most of the talking however, a lower resistance to alcohol, and little experience of dealing with women like Faith, was making him a little too loose lipped around her.  
  
"And this friend of yours?" asked Faith innocently enough, as she pulled the cap off another bottle of beer and handed it to Mal, "What's his name?"  
  
"Brooklyn," slurred Mal, his eyes were a little bloodshot and there was a slight sway in the way he was sitting. Faith guessed she only had too feed him one more round before he told her exactly why Peter had decided to return to Europe. She really doubted it was for a good cause.  
  
"Why are you so worried about him anyway?"  
  
"I fucking love him," answered Mal, smiling, "I love him like a brother," he paused for a moment. "Though technically.I think he's my father."  
  
Faith raised an eyebrow and slowly pulled Mal's beer away from him while he continued trying to figure out whether this friend of his, he was so worried about, was his father or not.  
  
-Obviously I've given him enough beer.-  
  
"So.why would he come to Europe?"  
  
"Oh.he um.oh yeah, this book he has. It's been telling him some pretty weird shit," said the clone.  
  
Faith's eyes narrowed, "Book?"  
  
"Yeah.the Mall's Codex or something," replied the drunken gargoyle. Totally oblivious to the look Faith was giving him.  
  
"Don't you mean.the Malus Codicium?" she asked carefully.  
  
The gargoyle thought for a moment before replying. "Um.yeah, yeah that's it!"  
  
"What exactly did this book tell him?"  
  
"That's he's some sort of Angel of Vengeance or something. It's fucked his head completely." Malibu sighed sadly, "I mean, he's went through Hell the past few months. He got kicked out of his clan cause he helped me and Fang kill this really nasty and evil bitch called Demona. But the thing was, his leader seemed to think that she was reformed." Mal stopped for a moment and looked around, "What happened to my beer?"  
  
"You drank it."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yes. Now go on."  
  
Mal looked a little disappointed, but continued none the less, telling her everything that had happened. From Oberon's punishment of Brooklyn by bringing Demona back to life, till when he, Fang and a woman named Jezebel had been forced to actually ask Demona and Brooklyn's former clan for help in trying to track him down.  
  
"You know what?" said Faith after Malibu had finished his tale.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm looking for your friend too."  
  
"You are?"  
  
"Yes. I think we should combine our resources."  
  
"You think so?"  
  
"Definitely."  
  
That seemed to cheer Malibu up to no end, "That's great!" he exclaimed. This only lasted a second though, "Wait, you mean work together don't you?"  
  
"Yes," said Faith, "Why? What did you think I was talking about?"  
  
"Um.nothing."  
  
Faith stood up, "In that case, help me carry Peter to my car. It's dark so we should be able to reach it without being seen if we're careful."  
  
Within half an hour, Fang was lying in the back seat of Faith's Ford Escort while Mal sat awkwardly beside her in the front.  
  
"Wait a minute," said Mal, "Don't you think you should wait until you're sober before we start driving around Austria?"  
  
"We are going to Graz," replied Faith, slipping a pill in her mouth, "That's where the rest of my team is."  
  
Malibu noticed this, " What was that you just took?"  
  
"A special form of stimulant," replied Faith, "In a few minutes I will be completely free of the mind numbing effects of all that beer I drank."  
  
She looked over to Malibu, "Want one?"  
  
"Do you still get a hang over?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Cool! Pass one over then!"  
  
After several minutes, Faith could feel her mind sharpening again, she looked over to Malibu, he was still in human form, and the only trace of his little binge was the slightly bloodshot look in his eyes. He was quite handsome in human form, if only he was a little older.  
  
"Let's get this show on the road," he said enthusiastically. Faith nodded and started the car, bringing it around to the exit to the main road to Graz.  
  
Road to Graz from Vienna: The Next Day  
  
The cabin of the truck was filled with the aged disco music as Zhuge Liang guided the truck along the highway leading to Graz. Beside him sat Edmund Burke; he looked rather annoyed about something.  
  
"Zhuge?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Will you please put something on that hasn't been out of date for at least a couple of years?"  
  
"What's so wrong with disco?"  
  
"It's dead."  
  
"It is not dead!" protested Zhuge; "Disco is forever!"  
  
"Disco's dead Zhuge," said Burke as he pressed a button on the radio, ejecting Zhuge's homemade cassette tape of disco classics. "And nobody came to the funeral."  
  
"Are you two arguing about what fucking music to play again?" Came an angry voice from the back cabin.  
  
"Yes Paul," answered Burke.  
  
"For fuck's sake! Just turn the damn thing off!"  
  
Burke more than happily complied while his old friend gave him an irritated look.  
  
"I won the coin toss," grumbled the Chinese Inquisitor.  
  
"That's why we've been listening to that fucking crap since this morning!" yelled Paul from the back cabin. "Why can't you just listen to some classical stuff?"  
  
Both Zhuge and Burke shared a common look of distaste at the very mention of Rossi's favourite type of music.  
  
"I'd rather be castrated by a corgi thank you very much," said Burke as he folded his arms.  
  
They had been forced to begin their journey to Graz first thing in the morning after some trouble with customs regarding their "cargo", delaying them by an entire day.  
  
Burke's eyes brightened up; "How about we listen to some of my "rap" cassettes?"  
  
"NO!" screamed Paul and Zhuge in unison.  
  
"No need to scream," grumbled Burke.  
  
They continued in silence for several minutes before Paul and Burke got into a conversation about which member of the British Royal Family they thought deserved a bullet to the head the most. Paul was arguing for executing both Princes William and Harry while Burke was arguing that Prince Charles needed a good kicking.  
  
Zhuge meanwhile occupied himself between driving the truck and stretching out his mind into the stray thoughts of the drivers, going down both ways of the motorway.  
  
He had been born with this "gift". For almost a decade he had thought he was the only one who had it. Then he had met Inquisitor Hugo Asquith when he had been passing through his town. Asquith had the "gift" too. He had immediately sensed it in Zhuge and offered his family a huge sum of money if they would only allow him to take the boy and train him for a greater purpose. His parents had been reluctant at first, but had accepted in the hope their son would enter a better life than the one they had to offer him if he stayed with them.  
  
After almost eight years training in the secret halls of the Inquisition, deep beneath the Vatican, Zhuge had finally mastered his "gift" and become a full Inquisitor, dedicating the rest of his life to fighting the Darkness and it's servants.  
  
He could read peoples' minds, both surface thoughts and, with greater concentration, far deeper into peoples' heads. He could see their past, their hopes, their dreams, and their fears.  
  
He stared straight ahead, allowing his body to handle the steering of the truck while his mind began to delve into an ever-changing myriad of thoughts all around him.  
  
He felt the fears and the hopes of dozens flow into his mind and pass through it. It was like standing in a crowded room, and hearing every single word said by all present at the same time. It was definitely something else.  
  
He sat there happily, listening to peoples' private thoughts (though not those of his comrades) as he drove the truck and it's trailer along the motorway to their destination.  
  
Until he felt it.  
  
His eyes widened and his body stiffened as he felt the presence getting, progressively, closer. The road, it was coming down the other side of the road! Whatever the Hell it was.  
  
"Take the wheel!" he yelled at Burke, as he let his own grip on it go. He shut his eyes and began to scan the oncoming presence.  
  
He could feel power; raw, dark, tainted power approaching them quickly. It was in a vehicle of some sort.a.a car, black metallic. Two passengers, a male and female, one was concentrating on the road, the other, the male he believed, was thinking about something, something very important.  
  
But what?  
  
Calling up his reserves, Zhuge stealth fully began to probe this man's mind. It was difficult. The sheer power emanating around the man.  
  
No.not a man.a youth?  
  
No.whatever he was he wasn't human. He was.a gargoyle! A gargoyle given human form!  
  
No.no.there was something else.something.evil.  
  
So evil, it shocked the mind. So powerful that it staggered the senses.  
  
Almost, like it was a consciousness in itself.  
  
He opened his eyes in realisation and horror.  
  
This was who they were looking for.  
  
They were going in the wrong direction! He had to act fast!  
  
Calling up all his strength, Zhuge Liang delved into the young gargoyle's mind, placing a psychic beacon in it. He could trace him then for almost a week before it faded, or before he left his range, which extended to about fifty kilometres.  
  
He sighed in exhaustion from the effort it took to perform such an act and slumped back in his chair. He felt the presence flow past, down behind them now.  
  
"Zhuge!"  
  
Zhuge opened his eyes weakly and turned his head, smiling triumphantly. Burke was leaning over from where he sat, grabbing the steering wheel and directing the truck in a panicked fashion, as Paul dragged him into the back cabin. As he was pulled out of the seat Burke slid over into it and began to drive to the side lane for drivers to stop and have a rest.  
  
Paul was looking down over him, "Zhuge? Zhuge are you all right? Answer me damn it!"  
  
"Turn us around," said Zhuge calmly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said turn us around," ordered Zhuge, quickly explaining the situation to his worried friend.  
  
  
  
"Riana."  
  
Riana turned her head to look at Brooklyn as she drove down the motorway.  
  
The gargoyle turned human was staring straight ahead; the "Lack of Conscience" was hanging from its chain around his neck and was glowing faintly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm afraid we are going have some company," said Brooklyn, smiling darkly.  
  
A Fashionable Hotel in Graz, Austria: Half an hour later  
  
Faith, Malibu and Fang exited the elevator on the top floor of the hotel, and headed to the end of the well-furnished corridor. Fang had taken human form by now, but was holding his head as he leaned slightly on Mal for support. Faith was following the pair slightly behind.  
  
"How much did I drink last night?" He asked, a hint of pain in his voice. He was having a very nasty hangover.  
  
"Too much, as usual," replied Faith briskly, "You never could say no to the brown stuff."  
  
"Remind me again why the Hell you're here?" growled Fang.  
  
"Because you were wasted, I don't know how to drive and because she offered to help find Brooklyn," replied Mal patiently.  
  
They reached the end of the corridor and knocked on the panelled ebony door.  
  
Mal had phoned Demona's personal mobile number last night to ask her where she and the rest of the clan were staying. She had given them the address of the hotel and what room they were in and told them they would wait for them there.  
  
The door opened slightly and Jezebel's kind, wrinkled face appeared in the crack.  
  
"Ah! Young master Mal," she said happily, swinging the door open and taking Malibu's shoulder, "It's so nice to see you again. I was getting quite worried." She looked over Fang with a hint of distaste, eyes widening questioningly when she saw bloodshot eyes.  
  
"Don't say a word Jezzy!" growled Fang before Jezebel could make any comments, "I am so not in the mood for you right now."  
  
"When are you ever in the mood for the truth?" replied the old lady, her voice laced with venom. She noticed Faith standing behind the pair and regarded her suspiciously. "I take it you are the woman Fang left standing at the altar?"  
  
Fang's eyes widened, "How the Hell do you know that?" He looked at Mal, who had suddenly started staring at the carpet, "You told her?"  
  
"Don't blame it on him you hateful scumbag," snapped Faith behind him, "He's much more of a man than you'll ever be."  
  
"What the Hell's that supposed to mean?" yelled Fang back.  
  
"I think you know."  
  
"No I don't! That's why I'm fucking asking!"  
  
"Who the Hell's making all that noise?" Came a feminine voice deeper inside the room. Fang and the others turned to see Dominique Destine. She was looking remarkably angry and was wearing a red business skirt and jacket with a white blouse. She regarded Fang and Malibu with disgust. "Oh.it's you two.I'm amazed I didn't smell you down the corridor," she said hatefully.  
  
"Who are you?" asked Faith, pissed that someone was getting in her way of putting Fang down.  
  
"I am Dominique Destine," replied Dominique Destine, she smiled wickedly, "you're that girl that Fang wooed aren't you?" She asked, still smiling, "funny, you don't look that retarded."  
  
"Hey! Don't talk to her like that psycho bitch," growled Fang, waving a fist threateningly.  
  
Faith's left eyebrow began twitching, as she began to shake with rage, "just who the Hell do you think you are you snobby, red-haired-"  
  
"SHUT UP!" roared Mal, so loud everybody jumped, he let go of Fang who fell backwards and ended up leaning against the wall for support.  
  
Everyone stared at the clone in shock; they'd never heard him raise his voice before.  
  
"Do you lot have any idea what you sound like?" He yelled. He was so angry he was actually shaking. No one answered him.  
  
"I'll tell you what you sound like," he hissed, "You sound like a bunch of fucking playground prima donnas! Fuck sake! You people are supposed to be grown-ups! I've seen more co-operative two year olds!" He was close to jumping up and down at this stage. "I'm not even ten fucking years old yet and I can do a better job at self control than the rest of you put together!"  
  
"Hey Mal," said Fang soothingly, "Calm down buddy."  
  
"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN UNTIL THE REST OF YOU START ACTING LIKE YOU'RE NOT IN THE NURSERY!" screamed the clone.  
  
For a moment Malibu stood there, staring at all of them, as if daring anyone to speak. When no one did, he started to calm down a little, "we are all supposed to be working together," he said, "If we don't we're all doomed. We have to catch up with Brooklyn and get that damn book off him before he hurts somebody."  
  
Faith remained quiet, despite what her conscience was telling her. Mal thought so highly of his friend, it seemed wrong to tell him he may have slaughtered two Inquisitors already.  
  
"You're right," she said, "Brooklyn could destroy everything if we all don't work together and find a way to save him from that book of his."  
  
"If I may?" said Jezebel to Faith, "how could you possibly help?"  
  
Faith was about to answer her when her mobile phone rang. She fumbled in her coat for it and brought it out and pressed a button.  
  
"Hello? Faith speaking."  
  
Her eyes widened as someone on the other side of the phone yelled something at her.  
  
"Paul.are you sure?"  
  
She smiled, "That's excellent! Where are you.Yes.yes.I'll be on the road in a few minutes. Call me when you reach Vienna again."  
  
She hung up and smiled at the assembled party.  
  
"I know where he's going. I know what kind of car he's in. I also have someone who's tracking him as we speak," she answered, "anything else?"  
  
"Where is he?" Fang asked.  
  
"On the highway to Vienna. He is in a Metallic Black Mercedes-Benz CLK55. Our guess is that he may just be passing through Vienna on to some unknown location."  
  
"We should get going," said Jezebel, rushing into a room and packing a small bag.  
  
"Where are the clan?" Mal asked.  
  
"They're sleeping in my armoured van. It's parked around the back of the hotel," replied Dominique rushing to her room. She paused for a moment, "Except for Angela and Hudson."  
  
"What happened to them?" asked Fang.  
  
"Nothing. My daughter is three months pregnant. I will not let anything endanger her or her child. I sent her home."  
  
"And Hudson?"  
  
"I sent him with her to make sure she's okay," answered Dominique. She made her way into her room quickly and began throwing things into a travelling bag.  
  
While Jezebel and Dominique grabbed their things, Faith made a visit to the bathroom. She came out a few seconds later with some towels under her arm.  
  
Fang and Mal stared at her.  
  
"What? I stayed here once. They overcharged me."  
  
Mal threw his arms up in exasperation and stalked outside while Fang burst out laughing. Faith turned and looked at him coolly.  
  
"I don't know what you think is so funny," she said, "I still remember that time you tried to make off with that T.V that was in that room we rented in Pittsburgh."  
  
That shut Fang up very quickly. He frowned at her as she walked out the door.  
  
"Bitch," he muttered under his breath before he followed her out.  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
Well? Like it? Hate it? Please tell me! Huge thanks to Storyseeker for beta reading and giving me advice on the series, you rock! Extra big thanks to anyone out there who likes the series so far, you guys rock too!  
  
Till the next time.  
  
Darkness 


	11. The Village of Puppets, Part 1: Arrival

The Village of Puppets, Part One: Arrival  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
The Village of Sudeny, Czech Republic  
  
Sudeny was a small village in the Sudetenland of the Czech Republic, roughly nineteen kilometres North of Leberec. Twenty-eight people, looking for a place that they could stay that didn't involve pushy landlords, had originally founded it in 1788. It consisted of three tiny housing estates, one Southwest of the town centre, one in the North and the third lying to the East. The "town" itself had amazingly little to offer to anybody, whether they were tourists, accidental passers by, or permanent residents. The centre consisted of small church, a post office, a town hall, a few shops including a newsagent, a terrible restaurant/carry-out and, for some reason, a Chinese laundry, complete with a very pleasant Chinese family who had moved here in the mid 1950s.  
  
In truth, the kindest travel agent would have to be smoking something extremely illegal to just pass this dump off as "quaint."  
  
Walking along the main road of the town was a man, followed by two adolescent males.  
  
The man was of medium height and fat. He wore a light grey suit, white shirt, a dark green tie, a grey hat and black shoes a size too big for his feet. He looked to be in his early-fifties or late-forties, although the tired look in his sky-blue eyes suggested he was a lot older, his face had a gruff appearance, ridiculously thick black eyebrows that actually met in the middle, a small black beard sat on his chin, connected to a thick black moustache, he also had a short crop of black hair under his hat. He walked with a black walking stick that had a silver handle in the shape of a raven's head, despite the fact he walked without the slightest hint of a limp or a poor back.  
  
His two followers were both roughly nineteen. One had short black hair, green eyes, a small nose and a pale complexion. The second had untidy ash- blonde hair, blue eyes and a severe case of acne. Both wore standard issue "goon" suits, black trousers, jackets, shoes, ties and white shirts. Both were thin, well built and walked side-by-side several feet behind their master.  
  
"Jeremiah Rincewald," came a voice from behind the man and his aides.  
  
The man, whose name, in case you haven't guessed, was Jeremiah Rincewald, spun around quickly, his companions standing in front of him protectively as a man appeared out of nowhere several meters behind them.  
  
The man shoved his aides aside to get a better look at the man who had materialised out of thin air behind them. When he got a good look at him, his forehead creased into a frown while his features contorted into a mask of hate.  
  
"Furcifer," said Rincewald venomously.  
  
Before him stood a very handsome man who appeared to be in his late twenties. He had short neat black hair, a prominent forehead, a small moustache, a fine nose, a tiny beard that clung to his chin, pearly white teeth, and eyes that were such a dark shade of green that they almost appeared to be black. He was tall and thin and wore a pair of black leather pants, black shoes, a black long-sleeve shirt, and a black cotton greatcoat.  
  
Rincewald looked Furcifer over several times.  
  
"What the Hell are you doing here?"  
  
Furcifer smiled at the older man, "Nice to see you too old friend." He motioned to the two goons. "Who are they?"  
  
"They are my students," replied Rincewald.  
  
"Students? What do you need students for you silly old fool?"  
  
Rincewald counted to ten in his head before replying, "I am passing on to them all my knowledge."  
  
Furcifer gave him an odd look.  
  
"Why? Are you going somewhere?" he asked curiously.  
  
"Well, no."  
  
"Then what's the bloody point?"  
  
"It gives me something to do," replied Rincewald angrily. "I have been stuck in this town. This miserable pile of shit in the middle of nowhere ever since that bloody rebellion! I have guarded the Black Sun for hundred of thousands of years! Do you have any idea how fucking boring that is? Do you?"  
  
Furcifer remained silent during Rincewald's outburst, his face quite calm and controlled.  
  
"Finished ranting?"  
  
"I could say a lot more, but I'm not going to."  
  
"Good. Now, walk with me."  
  
He gestured for Rincewald to follow him. The old man did after a moment's hesitation; his students fell in behind him and Furcifer at a respectable distance.  
  
"So, why has the Gallows Rogue come to Sudeny after all these years? " asked Rincewald after several moments of silence.  
  
"Iieo has been sent back to the Pit," replied Furcifer.  
  
Rincewald raised his bushy eyebrows curiously, "Why?"  
  
"He attacked the Anointed."  
  
"By the Prince!"  
  
"Yes, I know. Usually I don't interfere directly in the process of the gathering of the weapons, but I have had no choice in the matter," said Furcifer, his voice low and dangerous, "I am here by orders of the Dark Throne to ensure that no one gets in the way of the Anointed while he gathers the weapons."  
  
"But who could possibly." Rincewald paused, "It's them again isn't it?"  
  
Furcifer nodded his head absentmindedly.  
  
"Bloody interfering pricks," mumbled Rincewald, "How long have they known?"  
  
"A few days, a week at the most," replied Furcifer.  
  
They came to the end of the town centre, where the road led off onto the main highway, several miles South. In the distance, they could just make out a car with a black metallic paint job heading towards the town.  
  
Rincewald looked at the car at the distance and smiled.  
  
"Riana," he whispered. "So.this chap already has the Lack of Conscience."  
  
"Yes," replied Furcifer, "And now he has come for the Black Sun."  
  
"What's he like?"  
  
"He's in it for the usual reasons," replied Furcifer, "You know, get revenge for wrongs he feels were done to him. Just your average head case."  
  
"Then he'll be killed when he tries for the Sun," stated Rincewald.  
  
"No. He won't."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Furcifer smiled darkly, "He's immortal."  
  
Rincewald turned his head to stare at the on coming car as it approached.  
  
"Immortal?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Isn't that sort of breaking the rules?"  
  
"There aren't any rules regarding this Rincewald. Just guidelines."  
  
"I see," replied the old man, a little disappointed.  
  
They stared at the car in silence as it approached until it was only a few feet away.  
  
"Don't worry Rincewald," said Furcifer, as the black Mercedes-Benz pulled up on the other side of the road. Two figures got out, Riana, who saw the pair and waved at them. And a young man with long white hair and a big black leather coat. "He could always go mad."  
  
About two miles away  
  
Burke looked up at the clear sky and sighed happily. It was so beautiful around here.  
  
He turned to Zhuge, who was sitting on the grass and leaning against one of the wheels of their truck. He was sniffing a daisy.  
  
"Are you feeling better?"  
  
"Yes Edmund," replied his old friend, he looked up at him, "For the hundredth time," he added, smiling.  
  
"Just making sure," said Edmund. He turned his attention to Paul.  
  
The huge Italian had climbed a tree, and was sitting on a huge branch near the top and was watching the town several miles up the road through a pair of military-grade binoculars.  
  
"Well Paul!" he yelled.  
  
Paul turned in his seat and looked down at the Englishman.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Any activity?"  
  
"Nope. From what I can see four people met them in town and led them into a restaurant," answered the Italian. "Do you think we should make our move Edmund?" he asked.  
  
Burke thought for a minute before turning to look at Zhuge.  
  
"What do you think old friend?"  
  
"We should wait until dark," replied Inquisitor Liang. "That way we can out- gun them with the Kill-Team."  
  
"Can't argue with logic like that," said Paul from his tree.  
  
"Very well then," said Burke, heading to the truck. He swung the door open and climbed in. Zhuge and Paul watched him.  
  
"Calling Faith?" asked Zhuge.  
  
"Yep."  
  
Zhuge and Paul exchanged worried looks.  
  
"Um.do you really have to call her?" asked Paul, "I mean.she probably won't get here till tomorrow. So what's the point?"  
  
"Can you imagine what she would do to us if we didn't tell her where this psycho was?" replied Burke.  
  
"Good point. Call her."  
  
About half an hour till sunset: Sudeny's only restaurant (1 star)  
  
Brooklyn chewed his German sausage, trying to be polite and not show the utter revulsion he felt at chewing something that he could have sworn twitched when he stabbed it with his fork.  
  
"So," he said after swallowing and putting his knife and fork down with no intention of picking them up again. "You're a Necromancer?"  
  
He was addressing Rincewald, who sat opposite him while Riana sat to Brooklyn's right and Furcifer sat to his left.  
  
They were sitting around a circular wooden table with a red and white checker tablecloth over it. They all had ordered the "Special" of the house at Rincewald's insistence that it was a totally unique taste.  
  
Brooklyn had to agree with him there. He had never tasted anything so uniquely awful in his life. Riana and Furcifer seemed to think likewise. Riana had actually run off to be sick while Furcifer had taken one look at the collection of oddly shaped sausages and pushed his plate away.  
  
"Yes," replied Rincewald, between huge mouthfuls of sausages. His mouth was thoroughly covered in grease and there was even a tiny scrap of sausage stuck to his small beard.  
  
-This guy has worse table manners than Broadway!-  
  
"So.what's that like?" asked Brooklyn.  
  
After being stuck in a car with Riana for two days. He medically needed a conversation with someone who didn't wear black leather underwear and cut themselves with a Kukri knife when they got bored.  
  
He shuddered at the thought of being stuck with this woman any longer.  
  
He had discovered her "habit" when she thought he had been sleeping in the back seat. He noticed her pull out the Kukri from her flak jacket and start cutting little slits along her arm that was still manipulating the driving wheel and humming "Bohemian Rhapsody" to herself.  
  
She was an awful at conversations to boot. Her topics for conversation basically consisted of how she killed people over the ages and whom she was planning to kill in the near future. Some of it sounded a bit far-fetched. Especially that thing about Elvis.  
  
On the other hand, he hoped she was serious when she mentioned "The Backstreet Boys" needing to take out life insurance.  
  
"It involves messing around with dead things," said Furcifer impatiently. He looked at Rincewald in disgust. "Nice to know you haven't changed that much," he said sarcastically.  
  
Rincewald looked offended. He grabbed a pint glass of cola and drained it rather noisily of half its contents, leaving a thick trail of grease on the glass as he put it down again.  
  
"Would you hurry up you noisy bag of crap," hissed Riana, "This place is driving me crazy."  
  
"Crazier," said Furcifer.  
  
Riana gave him a dirty look, "Shut up."  
  
They remained in silence for several minutes, the only audible sound being that of Rincewald's munching.  
  
In desperation Brooklyn turned to Furcifer in the hopes of some form of conversation.  
  
The oddly named man had barely said a word since they entered the restaurant and Brooklyn was curious about him.  
  
"So," said Brooklyn cheerfully, "What exactly do you do?"  
  
Furcifer looked up from his plate at the gargoyle turned human.  
  
"I take the souls of the still-living in exchange for power unimagined."  
  
"O-kay," said Brooklyn, "Like who?"  
  
"Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan."  
  
"Hitler?"  
  
Furcifer frowned at him.  
  
"No. He just.happened by himself." He paused for a moment, "It's quite amazing that mankind can create people like that. One of the reasons it must be destroyed really."  
  
Brooklyn never said anything at this; he just nodded his head in understanding. Ever since he had donned the "Lack of Conscience", he knew the truth about humanity. The truth about everything really.  
  
It was scary.  
  
Rincewald stood suddenly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He slapped his belly contently.  
  
"Everybody ready?"  
  
  
  
The quartet walked out of the awful restaurant, with Rincewald muttering something about having to pay for everybody was totally unfair.  
  
"Where is the weapon?" asked Brooklyn as they headed to Riana's Mercedes.  
  
"In a cave on that hill that overlooks the town," replied Rincewald, "First though we must go to my house."  
  
Furcifer raised his eyebrows curiously, "Why?"  
  
"I must summon my students, get Fuzzy and put on my uniform."  
  
Now it was Brooklyn's turn to be curious, "Fuzzy?"  
  
"His familiar," answered Riana as she fumbled with the keys, "It's a big black rat."  
  
"I'll have you know he is a guinea pig," growled Rincewald, "Don't you think I see enough rats without having one act as my go-between?"  
  
"Why didn't you take a raven, or a fucking cat like everybody else?" asked Furcifer. He was quickly losing patience with the Necromancer.  
  
"Everybody takes ravens," said Rincewald defensively, "And as for cats. Oh don't get me started on cats. They're the worst damn familiars around."  
  
"Why do you need a familiar?" asked Brooklyn, "I thought only weak witches or wizards had those?"  
  
He never remembered seeing Jezebel use a familiar, or himself for that matter.  
  
Rincewald turned to look at him impatiently.  
  
"I thought you had the Malus Codicium?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Haven't you ever looked at the section about Necromancy?"  
  
Brooklyn shuddered in disgust, "You must be joking! That's stuff's fucking icky! Playing around with the dead? Always thought it was a little disrespectful myself."  
  
"Rincewald only does it to make Necrophilia more interesting," snapped Riana as she got in her Mercedes.  
  
Brooklyn looked at Riana in shock for a minute before returning his gaze to Rincewald. The necromancer looked very red in the face.  
  
"That's a fucking lie!" he yelled after a few seconds of being stared at by Furcifer and Brooklyn.  
  
"I thought you said you were going to quit?" asked Furcifer.  
  
"I did! Honestly!" screamed Rincewald. He paused for a moment. "Well.actually-"  
  
"Shut up!" said Brooklyn suddenly, slapping a hand over the necromancer's mouth, "I don't want to here it! Just get in the fucking car!"  
  
  
  
Just outside Sudeny: Sunset  
  
Edmund Burke emerged from the truck's cabin and jumped out onto the grass, ready for anything.  
  
He was wearing a dark brown armoured body glove with a sleeveless black leather jacket that fell to his hips and contained extra ammunition and a handful of throwing knives. He was armed with four large bore revolvers in holsters attached to his body glove, two on hip holsters while the other two were just under his arms. A straight blade cavalry sabre, which had been in his family since the Napoleonic War, hung in a scabbard at his waist. He cradled an elephant gun in his hands.  
  
He strode over to the rear of the truck to where Zhuge and Paul waited for him.  
  
They were already prepared for the expected fight to come.  
  
Zhuge wore a black armoured body glove similar to Burke's, with a black travelling cloak that fell to his knees covering his own arsenal. Burke had seen his equipment before on several occasions. Like his awful taste in music, Zhuge's preference in weapons never changed.  
  
He would be equipped with a pair of small, compact Uzi's, a Tai-Chi sword, several daggers, a garrotte and a 9mm berretta.  
  
Burke smiled at his old friend, who smiled back confidently.  
  
Burke turned his attention to Paul Rossi.  
  
The huge Italian had chose not to wear an armoured body glove, insisting they were too hot and ugly. Instead he was wearing a pair of midnight blue combat slacks, a similarly coloured shirt and armoured flak jacket and black combat boots.  
  
He was equipped with a brace of six 9mm berretta pistols, which hung from various belts across his chest, while two 30cm long knives and a pair of tomahawks hung from the belt across his waist. He was holding a rather intimidating halberd in his arms.  
  
"Ready chaps?" asked Burke cheerily.  
  
"And willing," said Paul. Zhuge nodded an affirmative.  
  
Burke looked west, to where the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon.  
  
"Then lets get the Kill-Team ready," he said.  
  
Zhuge and Paul nodded, going to the doors at the back of the truck and swinging them open as the last rays of the sun vanished and the darkness claimed the sky.  
  
The three Inquisitors stood back and watched the dark interior of the storage area; their eyes could only see a few feet inside. But they could hear everything.  
  
First there was a cracking noise, followed by several others, as if stone was slowly being broken.  
  
A deafening, inhuman roar from beyond the Inquisitors' vision inside the container quickly followed this. Other roars joined the first, as there was the sound of stone being smashed and bits of masonry suddenly flew out at the Inquisitors and landed at their feet.  
  
Edmund Burke smiled as he approached the entrance.  
  
Six pairs of glowing eyes stared back at him.  
  
"Kill-Team Alpha," he said.  
  
"Yes Inquisitor," answered a voice from the darkness.  
  
"We have some evil ass that needs kicking," said Paul Rossi, "Are you with us?"  
  
"All the way Inquisitor," replied the voice, "Just show us who to shoot."  
  
Sudeny: Five minutes later  
  
Brooklyn looked over Rincewald's caravan and frowned.  
  
"You actually drive around in this thing?" he asked.  
  
It was a wreck. An insult to respectable vehicle manufacturers worldwide.  
  
In other words, it was Albanian.  
  
It had a terrible white and brown paint job with dazzling silver hubcaps. It was large, ugly, and very, very dirty.  
  
Brooklyn turned to Rincewald, who was staring at him venomously.  
  
"Yes. I do."  
  
Brooklyn was in his gargoyle form again. He had managed to get a quick shower and his long white hair was still a little wet. He had on his black chinos, a black shirt that fit and his burnt, battered and blood stained black leather coat, with the Malus Codicium in the inside pocket and "The Lack of Conscience" hanging from its chain around his neck. His sword hung at his waist while he held his staff in his hands. His two Desert Eagles were in their shoulder holsters.  
  
Rincewald had changed into his "uniform" for such occasions when someone claiming to be the Anointed showed up and contested for the weapon. He was clad in black robes, with a long black cape and cowl hanging over his shoulders with the cowl pulled back, around his neck hung a gold chain with a Pentecostal star on the end. He wore a black leather skullcap on his head. A single edged long-sword hung on his belt while he carried a black wooden staff with a silver raven, its wings outstretched, sitting on the top and with a silver cap piece on the bottom.  
  
His two "students" were dressed in a similar fashion, with one of them holding "Fuzzy" the familiar, in his arms.  
  
Fuzzy was the fattest guinea pig Brooklyn had ever seen. It looked like it could weigh up to five, maybe even pounds. It had a huge pair of green eyes that stared at Brooklyn dumbly while it's mouth moved constantly, as if it was chewing something. It was jet black from head to clawed toe.  
  
Brooklyn sighed as he stared at the cute, yet probably very stupid animal.  
  
This was definitely not something he would have pegged as a Necromancer's familiar.  
  
It was just too cute to be evil.  
  
This was not a creature someone would scream at and run in terror from. It was something you might go "Aww" at and want to give a cuddle!  
  
He looked at Fuzzy. Fuzzy stared back. Brooklyn then turned his attention back to Rincewald.  
  
"You are a fucking joke," he said, before getting into the "living area" of the caravan.  
  
Rincewald frowned and opened his mouth to say something.  
  
"SQUEAK."  
  
Rincewald turned to look at his familiar.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"SQUEAK."  
  
"Oh" said the Necromancer, "In that case I'd better be polite."  
  
Several minutes later they were driving up the road to the cave on the hill.  
  
  
  
Demona's Big Armoured Van: En Route to Sudeny  
  
"Are you smoking?" rumbled Goliath. The huge lavender gargoyle was addressing Malibu.  
  
The light green clone took the lit cigarette out of his mouth and looked thoughtfully at it for several seconds before returning his gaze to Goliath.  
  
"Well.yes. Yes I think I am," he said, returning the cigarette to his beaked mouth.  
  
Goliath frowned at him in disapproval, "Those are extremely bad for you."  
  
"Yes. I know."  
  
Goliath's frown deepened while Lexington turned his head away to crack a smile.  
  
Broadway, Goliath, Lexington, Malibu, Faith, Fang and Bronx were sitting in the back area of Demona's armoured van (although bus might be a better word for it) while Demona sat in the driver's seat with Jezebel beside her, arguing over the fastest way to Sudeny.  
  
The vehicle was enormous; it was a sleek, heavily armoured double-decker bus, with a silver paint job and black, reflective glass windows.  
  
There was a long couch along both walls on the bottom floor; each could hold five people in comfort although Broadway's rather large exterior was taking up the space it would take two humans to sit comfortably.  
  
Faith, Mal and Fang sat opposite Lexington, Goliath and Broadway respectively, while Bronx lounged on the floor sleeping.  
  
They hadn't gotten along terribly well while being stuck together for two days. There had been a lot of bickering about who's fault this really was, followed by a lot of yelling, threats and Faith going out of her way to put Fang down.  
  
It had gotten so bad that Mal had to sit between the two of them to make sure Fang didn't get hurt.  
  
"So Faith," said Lex, "Where'd you and Fang meet?"  
  
Fang looked up from the book he was reading to try and beat Faith to the punch but she had been waiting for a chance to bash him some more.  
  
"It was about twelve years ago," she began, "1987. It was the summer of love."  
  
"No it wasn't," said Fang.  
  
Faith looked at him coldly. "What?"  
  
"We met in the fall!"  
  
"No we didn't."  
  
"Yes we did!"  
  
"No we didn't!"  
  
"Did!"  
  
"Didn't!"  
  
"Did!"  
  
Mal stood up suddenly, his eyes almost flaring.  
  
"For Christ's sake! Will you two please grow up! If I didn't know better I'd say you were frigging married!" He paced quickly to the small winding steps; " I'm going upstairs where it's a little quieter!"  
  
Lex jumped out of his seat just a little too quickly, "I think I'll join you," he said, bounding after the clone.  
  
"Um.I think I left something on in the oven," said Broadway, quickly following Lex.  
  
Goliath rose to his feet. Fang and Faith stared at him.  
  
"I don't like being near either of you," he said gruffly before heading upstairs.  
  
Both Fang and Faith watched him go.  
  
"What's his problem?" asked Faith.  
  
"He's the second biggest asshole on Earth," replied Fang.  
  
Faith looked at him, "And who's the first?"  
  
"Your father."  
  
The room echoed from the sound of a slap.  
  
"Ow! What the fuck was that for?"  
  
"Don't call my father an asshole!"  
  
"But he was!"  
  
There was another slap.  
  
"Ow! Stop that!"  
  
"Stop calling my dad an asshole!"  
  
"Okay! Okay! He wasn't an asshole!"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Faith and Fang sat in silence for several seconds before a smile crossed Fang's lips.  
  
"He was a total bastard."  
  
  
  
Jezebel rubbed her eyes tiredly as she handled the map while Demona drove.  
  
There was a lot of yelling in the back, followed by a loud crash.  
  
"If she breaks any of my equipment I'm holding you responsible," said Demona without taking her eyes off the road.  
  
Jezebel looked at her, stunned, "Me?"  
  
"Yes. You. Do you comprehend what I'm saying you senile old witch?"  
  
Jezebel's mouth dropped open, "How dare you!" she yelled. "You're one to talk! You murderous hag!"  
  
"HAG?!"  
  
"Yes! Hag! You know? One of those hateful bitches that couldn't get a man if she tied him up first!"  
  
Demona's eyes flared red, as she stared at the old lady menacingly, "I'll let that one go."  
  
She paused for a moment, "But only that one. If you call me one more name you'll be meeting Macbeth very soon."  
  
Jezebel stared at her icily before replying, "After this is all over Demona. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you very badly. And I am going to enjoy every second of it."  
  
Demona snarled at her, "Do you really think that I fear death any longer you hateful old woman? Do you?" Her hands began shaking as she clutched the wheel a little too tightly. "I'm mortal again. I can die, but I'm not afraid of death any longer." She paused as she noticed the strange look Jezebel had on her face for just the briefest moment.  
  
But she still saw it.  
  
"What?" asked Demona, her voice suddenly filled with uncertainty, for what reason, she wasn't sure.  
  
Jezebel said nothing; she only turned her head and stared straight ahead at the road.  
  
"What?" repeated Demona. She was starting to feel very uncomfortable being near Macbeth's old servant.  
  
-She knows something,- concluded Demona, -But what?-  
  
"Jezebel? You haven't told me everything have you?"  
  
Jezebel continued to stare at the road ahead.  
  
"Have you?!"  
  
Jezebel closed her eyes slowly, she appeared to be wrestling with her conscience for a brief period of time before she finally opened her eyes and looked into Demona's emerald green ones.  
  
"No Demona. I have told you everything." She said with an air of finality that bluntly told Demona that she wasn't going to get anything more from her. With that said, Jezebel turned her head back to the road and continued staring straight ahead.  
  
Demona frowned at her.  
  
The old woman was lying.  
  
But about what?  
  
What the Hell wasn't she telling her?  
  
Demona turned her attention back to the road, her frown never leaving her face.  
  
She'd find out. Whatever it was, she'd find out what the old woman hadn't told her.  
  
If not from her, then from one of those two fools in the back.  
  
The big hill that overlooks Sudeny: 10 minutes later  
  
Brooklyn looked over the small sea of lights that was Rincewald's hometown. He smiled slightly.  
  
"It's beautiful," he muttered to himself before turning towards the group.  
  
They were standing on a picnic area built onto a flat part of the enormous hill, which rose up in a ragged wall of sedimentary rock. It had started raining very heavily a few minutes ago, and the lot of them were thoroughly drenched.  
  
Rincewald was standing by it, his "students" were several feet away, chatting excitedly between themselves, one of them still cradling Fuzzy in his arms. Riana was sitting at one of the picnic tables, away from them all, idly playing with her whip and kukri knife.  
  
Furcifer was yelling very loudly at the Rincewald. Both of them were standing beside the wall of sediment.  
  
"What the fuck do you mean you've forgotten?" screamed Furcifer, he was shaking all over and giving Rincewald very dangerous looks, "Those Inquisition bastards are heading into town right now!" He shook his fist at Rincewald in frustration.  
  
Rincewald backed away slightly from Furcifer, trying not to flinch.  
  
"Don't speak to me like that you.you.you." he suddenly gave up on whatever he was planning to say as his eyes lit up.  
  
"Now I remember!" he yelled triumphantly.  
  
Furcifer rolled his eyes as the Necromancer paced past him and placed his right hand against the wall.  
  
"Open Sesame!" he yelled, his eyes and palm suddenly a disturbing shade of light green.  
  
The rock suddenly began to shake violently as a huge vertical crack opened up in the wall, widening until a person could comfortably pass through it. Brooklyn could just make out a passageway in the darkness.  
  
Then something hit him.  
  
"Wait a second!" he said, turning to Riana, "Isn't that the exact same thing you made me say in Graz?"  
  
The irritating woman was wearing the same outfit that Brooklyn had first met her in. Her black leather body glove and flak jacket, with the same assortment of weapons she carried before. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail.  
  
She nodded without even turning to look at him.  
  
Brooklyn heard Furcifer swear under his breath.  
  
"You two are fucking ridiculous."  
  
Brooklyn turned to look at Furcifer. The man or daemon or whatever the Hell he was appeared to be in an extremely bad mood. He was eyeing him in a way that made the gargoyle feel very uncomfortable. He pointed to the passageway into the rock.  
  
"This week Brooklyn. If you please?"  
  
Brooklyn frowned back at Furcifer before walking over to the entrance. He looked to Rincewald.  
  
"What exactly is in there?" he asked.  
  
"The Black Sun Staff," replied the Necromancer, "It can amplify a person's magical prowess a thousand fold."  
  
"Really? What do I have to do to get my hands on it?"  
  
"You must learn the true name of the daemon that resides inside," said Riana suddenly. "By learning the true name of a daemon, you gain dominion over it until it gets the upper hand."  
  
"Then how come Iieo attacked me?" asked Brooklyn.  
  
"The device which he had been bound to was destroyed. The reason that Inquisitor couldn't control Iieo was that he had not performed the summoning or the binding to a host body, nor did he know Iieo's true name," Riana answered patiently.  
  
"Oh," replied Brooklyn. He turned his attention to the entranceway. "Sounds simple enough."  
  
He heard Rincewald giggle behind him.  
  
"The Conscience is the key Brooklyn," said Furcifer, pointing to the amber gemstone hanging around the gargoyle's neck, "Without that, you cannot enter, nor can you ever hope to succeed in getting the Staff."  
  
He smiled at him, "Good luck."  
  
Brooklyn nodded thanks and entered the passageway. It was pitch black after he got a few feet in, he fumbled in his pocket and produced a flashlight and clicked it on.  
  
He was in a long passageway, perhaps fifteen meters in length; the walls were dusty, with disused fire lamps going down one wall. It was fairly narrow, just enough room for one person to walk down comfortably.  
  
At the very end of the passageway, was a black door with a brass doorknob on it. Brooklyn pocketed the flashlight and approached it cautiously, drawing one of his Desert Eagle pistols in his right hand while keeping a firm grip on his staff in his left. When he reached it, he raised his foot to kick it in but stopped himself suddenly.  
  
He slung his pistol back in its holster and tried the knob.  
  
It turned, and the door slid open.  
  
"Good thing I checked," he muttered to himself nervously, "It looked expensive."  
  
He strode into the room, the door slamming behind him of its own accord, causing Brooklyn to jump and twirl around, pistol drawn and staff glowing pale blue, illuminating the room. Seeing that is was just the door, he sighed to himself and turned and regarded the interior.  
  
He whistled in awe.  
  
He stood in a five-sided room, in the centre of which, lay an altar of obsidian. The room was gigantic. He could barely see the two connecting walls opposite him. The walls and floor were made of black marble. A huge Pentecostal star, of gold, decorated the floor; the altar lay in the centre of this star. Brooklyn looked up to the ceiling, his jaw dropping open in the process.  
  
He could see the sky. A clear night sky, light up by thousands of stars burning like beacons in the darkness.  
  
He smiled slightly, "Cool."  
  
~It is. Isn't it?~  
  
Brooklyn reacted immediately, backing against the door and covering the entire room with his staff and pistol.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
~No need to be alarmed.~ said the voice.  
  
Brooklyn frowned. The voice wasn't coming from any mouth. It was in his head.  
  
"I take it you're the daemon that dwells in the Black Sun?"  
  
~That is correct.~  
  
Brooklyn strode up to the altar and examined what lay there.  
  
Upon the altar was a staff. Two meters long, the shaft appeared to be made of obsidian. A human skull sat upon one end, jet black, with a black corona surrounding it. Upon the other end was a serrated spear tip. It was completely covered in daemonic runes, the shaft, the spear end, even the skull and its corona.  
  
"Very nice. Very gothic."  
  
~Why are you here?~  
  
"I am here to learn your name."  
  
~Why so?~  
  
"So I can wield your power."  
  
Brooklyn could have sworn he heard the staff chuckle.  
  
~Many have tried before you gargoyle. All have failed.~  
  
"I won't."  
  
~So confident? Very well then.pick me up.~  
  
Brooklyn set his own staff down upon the altar and holstered his pistol. Taking a deep breath, he reached out his hands and gripped the staff.  
  
Gently he lifted it off the altar.  
  
~The game is simple.~ said the staff, ~All you have to do is use the conscience around your neck and the Codicium, to guess my name, while holding onto me.~  
  
Brooklyn frowned.  
  
This sounded just a little too easy.  
  
"And what exactly will you be doing while I guess your name?"  
  
He a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach while he suddenly shivered.  
  
He could feel the Daemon smile at him.  
  
~This.~  
  
Before Brooklyn could utter another word, he burst into flames.  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
Yay! Yet another part of the saga done! This one is actually half of one whole big fic, but it isn't totally finished just yet and I was afraid it might get a little too long if posted together. Once again huge thanks to Storyseeker for beta-reading and offering ideas! You rock! Also thanks to everyone who seems to like my crap. You guys rock too! The second half, "Battle," should be finished soon.  
  
Until then.  
  
Darkness 


	12. The Village of Puppets, Part 2: Battle

The Village of Puppets, Part 2: Battle  
  
  
  
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!  
  
  
  
Sudeny, Czech Republic: Night  
  
Zhuge Liang got out of the truck along with Edmund and Paul. They scanned the surrounding area.  
  
They had pulled up in the town centre where they had seen the car, they had been tracking, pull up just outside a restaurant before they had headed off.  
  
The rain had become a torrent.  
  
A fourth figure emerged from the cab of the truck; it looked around at the deserted street.  
  
"I'm afraid my team will not be able to get any altitude in this rain Inquisitor," it said, it's voice male, "we shall have to drive to wherever the Arch Heretic is."  
  
Zhuge turned to face the figure.  
  
"Not to worry Sebastian," he replied, "I already know gargoyles cannot glide in heavy rain."  
  
Sebastian sunk his head apologetically. "Still Inquisitor, I am sorry."  
  
Sebastian towered over the Chinese Inquisitor. His skin was a deep shade of purple, a pair of small horns protruded from his forehead while a bony crest acted, as his eyebrows. His wings, like most gargoyles, were on his back, with clawed talons resting upon their tops. He had a long shock of dark grey hair that was tied back in a ponytail. His eyes were a light green; he had a small nose and a square jaw. He was dressed in a heavily armoured black body glove, with a black, sleeveless leather jacket such as the one that Edmund was wearing. Upon the right breast of his body glove, was the symbol of his Kill-Team. A white crucifix with a black alpha imprinted in the centre and two white swords crossing diagonally behind the cross. He was armed with a combat shotgun that was slung over his back in a sheath, with extra shells in his jacket, two Glock 9mm pistols on shoulder holsters while extra clips hung on his equipment belt, along with several combat knives. He held a Naginta polearm in his right hand.  
  
"Where is he Zhuge?" Asked Edmund, "still in the restaurant?"  
  
Zhuge looked at the front of the only restaurant in town, his mind reaching out to the few people inside.  
  
"No," he answered after several seconds. He expanded his search to his full capability.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"I don't understand," said Zhuge, his eyes widening, "I can't feel him any longer."  
  
Edmund and Sebastian stared at him, stunned, while Paul turned to face him.  
  
"What do you mean you can't sense him any longer?" asked Paul, he had been eyeing someone across the street that had been staring at them from the shadows and his hands had slipped into his coat, where he had slowly produced one of his pairs of berettas.  
  
"Something's blocking his position," explained Zhuge, hurriedly, "he's somewhere that's blocking the psychic beacon that I put on him."  
  
"Then what the Hell are we supposed to do now?" said Edmund, angrily.  
  
*****  
  
"Let's kill them," said Riana, staring at the oblivious Inquisitors from the top of the hill, Brooklyn was competing for the Black Sun in, through a pair of very powerful binoculars.  
  
"Agreed," said Furcifer, rubbing his beard thoughtfully beside her, "but how?"  
  
"May I call up the legions of the undead?" Asked Rincewald, hopefully.  
  
Riana and Furcifer stared at him, as if he'd gone daft.  
  
"What legions of the undead?" Asked Furcifer, "exactly how many people are in this dump's graveyard that could be used as zombies?"  
  
Rincewald thought for a moment before replying, "Twenty-three?"  
  
"And that's a legion in your books?" Snapped Riana. She turned to face Furcifer. "Let me go down there and kill them."  
  
"No," said Furcifer, a horrible grin forming across his lips, "I have a much, much better idea that I would rather use."  
  
He strode over to Rincewald's two assistants and smiled.  
  
"I shall need a little.sustenance beforehand though."  
  
Before either of them could react, Furcifer was upon them, grabbing them by the throats and snapping their necks in a grip, far stronger than any human was. Fuzzy jumped from the blonde's hands, as Furcifer let go of their broken necks and grabbed their faces instead, making sure his palms covered their open mouths.  
  
He smiled cruelly, as he felt their souls trying to escape their corpses. The whites of his eyes changed to black while his dark green irises remained the same colour.  
  
He reached out for them. He caught them.  
  
He fed off them before they could be judged. Draining their essence, their memories, personalities, everything that was them, was absorbed by Furcifer.  
  
He let out a moan of ecstasy, as he dropped the two useless bodies.  
  
Riana smiled while Rincewald started shaking with rage.  
  
"Just what the Hell do you think you're doing?" He roared, striding towards Furcifer, "do you have any fucking idea how much trouble I had to go through to get my hands on them?"  
  
"Should I care?" Asked Furcifer in an absent-minded manner, as he brushed past the infuriated Necromancer and walked up to where Riana stood, looking out over the town.  
  
He looked at her impatiently.  
  
"Stand aside woman. This won't take long."  
  
Riana complied, as Furcifer took her position and spread his arms out. He smiled cruelly, as his body became surrounded in a dark aura, as black as his hair and eyes.  
  
He began to chant in the Daemon's tongue.  
  
*****  
  
Brooklyn tried to scream, but the flames burned his lungs out, as soon as he opened his mouth.  
  
~Not so confident now are we?~  
  
He staggered across the room, his entire body enveloped in black flames.  
  
His instincts told him to let go of the staff. But he wouldn't.  
  
He knew without asking that this was his only chance.  
  
The pain was indescribable.  
  
He could feel his skin boiling, the inside of his lungs were aflame.  
  
But he couldn't black out.  
  
It wouldn't let him.  
  
"F-f-f-f-f-fuck!"  
  
~Indeed. ~  
  
*****  
  
Alexander Stein read the paper, as his two daughters, Lela and Sara played with some dolls in front of the television. His wife, Alisa was currently in the kitchen, preparing dinner for her family.  
  
He was first.  
  
Alexander suddenly felt something odd, a presence of some form inside the house, something unnatural.  
  
He opened his mouth to ask Alisa if she could feel something odd as well.  
  
But he was not quick enough.  
  
Furcifer seized him, battering down his free will, crushing it into nothing. Alexander tried to scream, but no sound emerged from his lips.  
  
Nor would it ever again.  
  
A tenth of a second later, his daughters and then his wife's wills were crushed.  
  
And then their neighbours, then their neighbours, and so on and so forth.  
  
In barely two minutes, Sudeny had become a village of puppets.  
  
*****  
  
"I would have tried to just try and seize the Inquisitors' minds," explained Furcifer to Riana and Rincewald, "But they're trained to resist this sort of thing."  
  
He grinned, "besides, this is much more fun."  
  
*****  
  
Zhuge's eyes widened, his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground.  
  
Something was happening.  
  
"Oh my God," he muttered.  
  
"Inquisitor!"  
  
"Zhuge!"  
  
Sebastian and Edmund rushed to help him up while Paul twirled around. Berettas out.  
  
There were people walking out of shops, the restaurant, the church, the laundry, some were even coming out of the town hall.  
  
"What the Hell's going on?" Asked the Italian, nervously.  
  
Almost fifty people were walking towards the Inquisitors, their faces blank, their eyes staring outwards, as if in a daze. They had almost surrounded them when one; a girl aged around fifteen, walked up a little closer than the others did.  
  
"Hello Inquisitors," she said in a middle-aged male's voice, "I'm afraid you're not welcome here. I suggest you all leave while you still can."  
  
Sebastian yelled out, calling the rest of his Kill-Team. The back doors of the truck burst open and the five other members of his Kill-Team, all gargoyles, jumped out and rushed up to them.  
  
Edmund was desperately talking to Zhuge, trying to get a response out his old friend. But he was just staring out into space in horror.  
  
Paul never took his eyes off the girl.  
  
"Who are you?" He asked, venomously, keeping her covered with his pistols.  
  
"My name does not matter," replied the possessed girl. "What does matter is that I cannot and will not allow you to interfere with the Anointed One's gathering of weapons. Leave now or die."  
  
Zhuge appeared to be recovering from the psychic shockwave by now. He rose a little unsteadily to his feet with Edmund giving him support. He walked over to beside Paul.  
  
"We cannot leave," he said firmly. "You are evil incarnate and must be destroyed. Both you and the Anointed."  
  
"Ha!" Said the puppet. "Much easier said than done Inquisitor." The puppet smiled at him, cruelly. "But how far are you prepared to go to stop us?"  
  
As one of the people turned meat puppets began to advance towards the Inquisitors and the Kill-Team.  
  
"Zhuge!" yelled Paul. "What do we do now?"  
  
Zhuge looked helplessly from his group to the puppets coming towards them.  
  
Quite a lot of them were brandishing knives. The ones from the restaurant were holding cleavers.  
  
Sebastian wrenched the shotgun from his back, preparing it, as the rest of his team armed their own weapons, while muttering prayers of accuracy and fortitude.  
  
"Your orders Inquisitor?" He yelled when he was certain his team were ready.  
  
The puppets were quite close now.  
  
"Zhuge!" Yelled Edmund. "Zhuge!"  
  
Zhuge stared at the advancing crowd.  
  
There were six billion people on Earth. These were perhaps fifty.  
  
What did fifty lives matter in the quest to save six billion?  
  
Zhuge shook his head ruefully.  
  
But they did matter. They were innocent. They had nothing to do with this.  
  
He couldn't have them slaughtered just because some psycho had arrived in town, intent on getting his claws on a weapon of mass destruction.  
  
Could he?  
  
"Zhuge!"  
  
Perhaps he could try and wrestle the evil influence out of these people?  
  
"Inquisitor!"  
  
No. He was kidding himself.  
  
"Zhuge!"  
  
Whoever was doing this was way over his head.  
  
"For the love of God Inquisitor, tell us your orders!"  
  
No. There really was only one way.  
  
"God forgive us," muttered Inquisitor Zhuge Liang, as he gave the go ahead to the Kill-Team, as he drew his own Uzi's and began firing into the advancing crowd.  
  
The sounds of screams, gunshots and the roar of a minigun filled the street, as the flames from a flame-thrower lighted it up.  
  
It lasted barely a minute.  
  
*****  
  
"Well that went well," said Riana, sarcasm dripping from her silky voice.  
  
"Patience woman," said Furcifer without turning to face her. His arms were outstretched towards the town below him. "There is plenty of cannon-fodder down there."  
  
*****  
  
Brooklyn fell to his knees; the black flames rising to an even higher degree of pain.  
  
He shut his eyes.  
  
The pain. It was a distraction. He had to shut it out if he hoped to succeed.  
  
~Ah! Still thinking? Very commendable! Obviously I'm not hot enough. ~  
  
Brooklyn threw his head back and screamed silently, as the flesh on his hands began to melt.  
  
~I love being me. ~  
  
The conscience hanging around Brooklyn's neck suddenly began to glow.  
  
Brooklyn's eyes opened, twin balls of pale blue flame.  
  
He saw Demona, standing before him. Laughing at him.  
  
He cursed her for being the cause of all his pain.  
  
The image of Demona suddenly changed to that of Oberon.  
  
He was smiling at him triumphantly.  
  
"What's the matter little gargoyle?" He asked, mockingly, "is it that you've finally realised you're a failure?" Oberon laughed at him.  
  
Brooklyn felt the rage inside of him, boiling up.  
  
The image changed again, this time to someone he had practically worshipped once.  
  
Goliath.  
  
The huge lavender gargoyle stood before him, disgust painted all over his face.  
  
"To think I actually picked you, as my second," he said, "you're pathetic. Your life was not worth all those times I had to save it."  
  
He turned his back on Brooklyn. "You are nothing compared to Demona. You hear me you miserable little shit? Nothing!"  
  
Brooklyn shut his eyes again, boiling hot tears of rage forming in his eyes.  
  
Goliath was wrong. He was something. Something far greater than that slow- witted fool could imagine.  
  
His face contracted into a snarl. He couldn't feel the pain any longer.  
  
He'd show them. He'd show them just what he was capable of.  
  
And then he'd have his revenge on all of them.  
  
A flicker of pale blue light began to surround his body, shielding it from the flames. Within minutes it had grown to the same level of the black flames, shielding him completely from them.  
  
His lungs tasted air again.  
  
~By the Black Throne! ~  
  
"I.WILL.NOT.BE.STOPPED.BY.THE.LIKES.OF.YOU!"  
  
*****  
  
They were damned.  
  
He was damned.  
  
Zhuge and the others strode through the town, the rain and the wind battering them.  
  
They had lost their truck.  
  
A puppet had done a kamikaze run at it with a bus.  
  
One of the Kill-Team, Monica, had been killed in the explosion after one of the fuel tanks had ignited, from her flame-thrower.  
  
Sebastian had shot her in the head to stop her suffering.  
  
The five remaining members had all been injured with light burns and cuts from flying pieces of metal mostly.  
  
Edmund was taking point with Martin and Brigid, twenty meters ahead of the rest of the group.  
  
Brigid was a female gargoyle that had originally been recruited in county Cork in the Republic of Ireland. She was the only member of the Kill-Team who hadn't been born and raised in the Sanctums of the Vatican. She had long black hair and jade green eyes. She had a small nose, a strong chin and a tiny pair of "devil" like horns protruding from her forehead. Her skin was olive-green like Lexington's. She was dressed in the same attire, as the rest of her team and was armed with a bastard sword that was slung over her back, a sniper variant of the M-16 assault rifle, a Desert Eagle pistol and a pair of Sai daggers.  
  
Martin, her mate for seven years now, was enormous. He had roughly the same build as Goliath. He had a small beak, webbed ears, sea-green eyes, a bald scalp and jet-black skin. He carried a square shaped titanium shield, which currently hung on his belt alongside his electro-war hammer, which was much bigger and more finely made in the Vatican War Smiths, than any Quarryman could hope to wield. A standard issue berretta 9mm hung on his belt. He held a belt fed mini-gun in his hands, with almost twenty thousand rounds attached to his back in a carrying case. He had used over half of his ammunition, disposing of almost a hundred people and two buses that had tried to ram the party.  
  
They were slowly headed to where Zhuge had believed the source of the psychic power, which was turning the people of this town into mindless puppets, was located.  
  
Behind them in the main group, Zhuge was having a crisis of conscience.  
  
He had ordered the killing of innocent people, so that he could save many more.  
  
Men, women, old people.  
  
Children.  
  
He closed his eyes and shook his head.  
  
Children.  
  
It had been necessary, as had the deaths of all the other people who had charged them mindlessly, mouths wide open, screaming and waving whatever weapons they could find.  
  
"Inquisitor?"  
  
Zhuge opened his eyes and looked to see Sebastian.  
  
"Yes?" he replied tiredly.  
  
Sebastian looked haggard; he had a large gash across his right cheek that was still bleeding. Most of his long hair had been singed when their truck had been taken out. His right arm had third degree burns across it that he didn't seem to notice.  
  
"We're running low on ammunition."  
  
"Damn," said Zhuge, he looked around at the group. Most of them were taking out back-up weapons. Sebastian was holding his Naginta in both hands and had one and a half, full clips for his Glocks, while Paul reported that he only had three full clips left for his brace of pistols.  
  
He looked to the two other members of the Kill-Team, Ezekiel and Catherine.  
  
Ezekiel was around human height, with burgundy skin, elf like ears, chestnut coloured eyes, a small beard on his chin that was light brown like his short crop of hair and a hawk like nose. Attached to the hips of his body glove, was a pair of sawn-off elephant shotguns, roughly about a third of the normal length of one of the enormous rifles. He only had a dozen shells left. He was also equipped with a .45 Magnum revolver, which had run out of ammunition. Three throwing axes, which were attached to his belt (he originally had six, but had lost three in the chaotic fighting), a garrotte, a Boa knife and was holding a long sword in his hands.  
  
Catherine's only gun, an MP-5, was out of ammunition and had been dumped already. She preferred close combat to ranged fighting anyway. She was equipped with a dozen or so knives of various sizes, a pair of spiked brass knuckles, an enormous Kukri, and a pair of matching single edged short swords that she was currently holding. She had long black hair, sky-blue eyes, bone coloured skin, a hooked nose, sharp chin, elfish ears and a single horn that jutted back over her hair from the centre of her forehead.  
  
She looked at Zhuge, sympathetically.  
  
"There was nothing you could do for them Inquisitor. If we don't reach the Arch Heretic before he gets the weapon hidden here.all is lost."  
  
Zhuge nodded to her, appreciatively, "thank you Catherine. But I truly believe we are damned for this."  
  
*****  
  
"They're getting awfully close," said Rincewald, worriedly. His staff was lying on a picnic table while he held Fuzzy in one hand while stroking him with the other.  
  
"Shut up," replied Furcifer. "I'm busy."  
  
"Yes do shut up Rincewald," joined Riana. "I really can't stand listening to that voice of yours."  
  
"Fuck you PMS girl!"  
  
"Oh! Go shave your eyebrows fatty!"  
  
"Prostitute!"  
  
"Stiff Shagger!"  
  
"SILENCE!"  
  
Riana and Rincewald looked nervously in Furcifer's direction. He had stopped looking out over the town and was staring at them with murder in his eyes.  
  
"You two do know that that kind of behaviour would be considered outrageous in a nursery?" He asked calmly enough, although his black eyes were still screaming bloody murder. "Now both of you behave while I finish these unenlightened fools off."  
  
"How come you get to have all the fun?" Asked Riana, bitterly.  
  
"Because I'm your superior," replied Furcifer, smugly.  
  
Riana responded by flipping Furcifer off. He frowned at her before returning his attention back to the trap that he claimed he was setting up.  
  
*****  
  
It roared at him, the entire room rippling, as strands of black flame and pale blue light began flaring off in random directions.  
  
Walls began to pulsate, as if they were breathing while faces of people and gargoyles began to emerge from others, writhing and screaming in the throws of the damned.  
  
It was deafening.  
  
The altar began to shudder violently, cracks appearing along the smooth obsidian surface before it exploded altogether, chunks the size of fists flying through the air before stopping mid-flight, caught by some unseen grasp.  
  
The floor began to ripple, as if it were liquid, the gold emblem of the Dark Prince, the huge Pentecostal Star covering the floor, began to twist and turn of it's own accord, as if it were some living two dimensional creature.  
  
The sky scene on the ceiling had become chaotic. The stars were moving at random, colliding and exploding, while other went supernova and still more collapsed upon themselves to form black holes.  
  
It struck out at him in desperation, a tendril of black flames rising, as if a snake about to strike at his head.  
  
As it moved to strike, it was struck out of existence by a tendril of pale blue light.  
  
Over the screams came the echo of maniacal laughter.  
  
"Not so confident now are we?" Screamed Brooklyn, a terrible grin on his face.  
  
~YOU SHALL NOT HAVE DOMINION OVER ME GARGOYLE! ~  
  
"Oh yes I will!" Replied Brooklyn; he was still on his knees, the Black Sun held above him in both hands. The pale blue light emanating from his body had almost totally enveloped the staff. The Lack of Conscience around his neck was glowing too, the amber light adding to the pale blue's assault upon the black flames.  
  
~You can't keep this up forever Gargoyle! ~  
  
Brooklyn frowned.  
  
The Daemon was right of course. He couldn't keep this up much longer. His outburst of power had come from his intense hatred of the people who had ruined his life. His body couldn't keep running on that. The amount of willpower that he was using to force the daemon onto the defensive was weakening very quickly.  
  
In a few more minutes, he would be burning again.  
  
~Just let me go, ~ said the Daemon, its tone becoming softer. ~Your power is impressive. But you just don't have the strength to carry on. Give up and become my slave. ~  
  
"NEVER!" Screamed Brooklyn. "You shall call me Master before this is over Daemon!"  
  
~Foolish creature! I gave you a chance! ~ Yelled the Daemon, redoubling it's efforts.  
  
The black flames burst from the staff with greater strength than before, forcing the blue and amber lights back from it, as Brooklyn swore.  
  
He snarled viciously.  
  
This had to end now.  
  
Calling up any reserves of strength he had, Brooklyn tried to strengthen his shield while using the Conscience to delve into the pages of the Malus Codicium, to learn the Daemon's true name before his defences collapsed entirely.  
  
The Daemon hissed, as it realised what he was doing and attacked even harder.  
  
~I shall not lose! ~  
  
*****  
  
Zhuge swore in his home tongue, as he thrust his sword through an old woman's face.  
  
A hissing noise came from inside her head, as he withdrew his weapon and twirled around to block a swipe from a middle-aged man with a cleaver. He then sliced the man's head clean off, a small fountain of blood erupting from the wound and spraying Zhuge in the face.  
  
"Fuck!" He screamed in a brief reprieve.  
  
They had been ambushed, as they had been coming up the road.  
  
Hordes of people, probably what little was left of the town's population, had swept down upon them from a pair of hills on each side of the road leading to the hill where the psychic power was emanating from.  
  
Martin and Brigid had mowed down almost the entire left flank of the attack before they had run out of ammunition and had switched to close combat weapons.  
  
He could see Martin over the chaos. Spinning, blocking attacks with his shield before bringing his war hammer, a bright blue electrical flame covering the head, down onto peoples' heads, often detonating them from the power of the blow. As a result, he was slick with blood, gore, bone and brain fragments.  
  
Headshots. They were the only way to stop the blood-frenzied puppets. They had learned this the hard way. Zhuge had almost emptied an entire clip from his Uzi into that girl's chest. But she had still come at him, screaming and waving a knife in her hands. She had only dropped when he had landed a head shot in.  
  
He parried an axe blow from a man in his fifties and in one fluid motion, drew a dagger from his belt, spun around his latest attacker and buried the point of it into the back of the man's head. He wrenched it out, as the corpse was going into spasms and hurled the dagger wildly into a group of puppets rushing towards him. The blade buried itself into a young girl's forehead; her body went rigid, as it collapsed on the ground.  
  
*****  
  
Ezekiel roared in anger, as he hurled his last throwing axe at an oncoming puppet (Mid thirties, blonde hair, nice ass by human standards), which dropped, as the blade almost went through her head from the speed it was travelling at.  
  
A boy in his early twenties stabbed him in the gut with a butcher knife. Ezekiel roared in agony, as he threw a backhand slap and sent his assailant flying into the tumult. He grabbed the handle of the knife in his left hand, as he maimed a pregnant woman with an axe, slicing her hands off and then decapitating her with his sword in his right hand. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the knife from his belly, as three puppets, all in their teens charged him.  
  
The first crumpled to the ground, as a butcher knife connected with his head, the second got the top half of her head removed from an upward slash with the sword while the third was cleaved in half at the waist from the follow-up.  
  
Ezekiel shivered in disgust, as the top half of the teen crawled along the ground with its one remaining arm to try and bite him in the ankle.  
  
He stamped on its head until it stopped moving.  
  
He heard a scream and spun around just in time to see Catherine being stabbed in the back by a puppet wearing a priest's outfit with a huge knife.  
  
"NO!" Screamed the burgundy gargoyle, rushing through the melee, slashing blindly left and right, his entire uniform glistening with blood and gore.  
  
The puppet-priest continued stabbing the fallen Catherine, even though she wasn't moving any longer.  
  
Ezekiel screamed at the top of his voice, as he wrenched one of his sawn- off elephant guns from its holster. He took careful aim while running.  
  
The puppet-priest looked up just in time to see Ezekiel pull the trigger.  
  
Its head was liquefied, as one of the two barrels let out a deafening boom, the force of the recoil almost breaking the gargoyle's wrist.  
  
Ezekiel dropped on his knees beside Catherine, tears clouding his vision. He turned her around in his arms, dropping his sword and gun, his lip quivering, as he stared into her now peaceful face. He looked into her open eyes, already glazing over, for several seconds before he gently closed them and kissed her lightly on the lips.  
  
"I love you," he whispered into her ear.  
  
His hands began to shake, as he laid her down gently on the ground and reached for her swords.  
  
A second later he was tearing through the chaotic ranks of puppets, screaming Catherine's name at the top of his voice, as he killed one and then another and then another with her swords.  
  
*****  
  
Sebastian spun the Naginta above his head, howling the Catechism of Protection, before twisting it into a downward arc, the curved blade at the end of the short wooden pole splitting a puppet in two, spraying him with blood. His dark grey hair had turned a deep red from the amount of blood that he had sprayed all over him.  
  
He saw a dozen puppets several meters away rushing towards him, waving knives, axes and other improvised weapons.  
  
He drew his pistol in his right hand. It only had eight bullets left.  
  
He picked his shots carefully, nailing eight of them with headshots, three of them right between the eyes, before throwing away the now useless gun and twirling his Naginta in his hands and decapitating the first of the remaining four that rushed him. The other three screamed at him at the top of their lungs, as they all slashed at him, two with axes, missed him while the third, wielding a knife, stabbed him in the thigh. Sebastian swore mid- prayer and head-butted the one who stabbed him, sending the puppet's nose through its face, before wrenching the knife out of his leg and throwing it at one of his two remaining attackers, the blade going through an eye and beyond in one of the puppet's heads. It crumbled to the ground silently.  
  
Sebastian reached for a throwing knife in his belt when a female puppet, in her mid-forties, stabbed him in the back with a knife. Sebastian howled in pain as he reached over his head and grabbed the puppet by its dress and hurled it over his head, sending it crashing into the puppet in front of him. He brought his hand around to try and pull the knife from his back when another group of puppets, seven this time, attacked him.  
  
They all piled on top of him, bringing him to the ground by weight of numbers. Sebastian began kicking them off wildly. His Naginta had been knocked out of his hand and he was desperately clawing for one of the knives he had on his belt when he noticed the point of the knife he had been stabbed in the back with was now protruding from his stomach. He had been impaled without even realising it.  
  
It was only then did he realise just how tired that he was feeling. He tried to shake the feeling off, but he just couldn't.  
  
He noticed one of the puppets had actually grabbed his own Naginta and was raising it above their head, bladed end pointing down towards his chest.  
  
The puppet brought the short spear down, but Sebastian refused to die that easily. The gargoyle's arms shot up and grabbed the spear just at where the blade ended, holding it in place.  
  
He smiled triumphantly up at the desperate puppet, as he began to push the bladed tip away from his chest.  
  
He was so focused on this that he didn't notice the puppet with the knife moving to slit his throat until it was too late to react.  
  
His last thought was just how unfair it was.  
  
*****  
  
Paul Rossi gunned another puppet down before discarding his second last berretta, muttering any prayers he could think of, as he drew his last pistol in his left hand while he held one of his tomahawk war axes in his right.  
  
A pair of puppets rushed him. He brought them both down with headshots.  
  
Another came at him, waving what looked like an antique sword. He dodged the clumsy swipe and split his assailant's head open with his axe, cursing himself for not thinking of bringing some grenades.  
  
There was a high-pitched scream behind him. He spun around quickly and brought his pistol to bear on.  
  
.A child, a little girl, roughly nine or ten, she had adorable blonde locks in her hair and even glazed over, her green eyes were enchanting. She just stood there staring at him, mouth wide open, and eyes blank. He felt his pistol hand begin to shake violently.  
  
He couldn't do it. God in Heaven! Help him! He couldn't shoot a child, even a possessed one. It was still a child. He couldn't make a callous decision like this.  
  
Fortunately he wouldn't have to.  
  
By some very cruel twist of fate, the girl's sister, her younger by four years, stabbed the big Italian in the back of the head, as he wrestled with his conscience, with her dad's biggest screwdriver.  
  
Paul Rossi's face contorted in pain for the briefest second, before he fell forward on the ground, the two girls stabbing the back of his head repeatedly until Inquisitor Edmund Burke saw this and put a bullet through both their heads while screaming Paul's name.  
  
*****  
  
"PAUL!"  
  
Paul was stabbed.  
  
He fell.  
  
He died.  
  
Burke put a bullet through each of the girls' heads with one of his revolvers before another wave of puppets tried to rush him.  
  
He downed three of them with his pistol before it ran out of bullets. Swearing, he threw it away, drawing a pair of throwing knives and killing two more puppets before drawing his cavalry sabre and charging half a dozen of them while roaring a battle cry.  
  
The first one that came at him got its head removed in a clean swipe. The next got its jaw dislodged, as Burke punched it, as hard as he could, with the hand-guard of his sword. He sliced its head off as it fell on its knees.  
  
The other four tried pounce on top of him in an attempt to bring him to the ground. Burke did a diving roll at their feet, sending the four of them to the floor while he jumped to his feet and ran to Rossi's corpse.  
  
He reached down and grabbed his friend's berretta, spun around and killed the four puppets as they were rising with clean headshots.  
  
He looked around at the carnage, taking huge gasps of air.  
  
The puppets had been reduced in number considerably.  
  
There was barely thirty or forty now.  
  
Easy Peasy Lemon Squeazy.  
  
He slumped forward onto his knees, mentally and physically shattered. He couldn't do this; he just didn't have the strength any longer.  
  
A pair of puppets ran at him, both brandishing screwdrivers.  
  
He was too tired to try and fight them off so he just shot the pair, not really caring that he was using up bullets that might be needed later if actually survived this mess.  
  
*****  
  
Martin swore as a puppet stabbed him in the shoulder with a knife. He kicked it hard in the gut, sending it flying across the road.  
  
It landed hard on its back and when it tried to rise. Inquisitor Burke shot it in the head, at some distance. He was kneeling on the ground and didn't look very well.  
  
He could see Ezekiel rushing towards the Englishman to see if he was okay.  
  
"MARTIN!"  
  
Martin looked around just in time to see a puppet lunge at him with an axe. He sidestepped the attack easily and hit his assailant in the back of the head with his war hammer. The back of the puppet's head (in this case a middle-aged woman) caved in as if it were a watermelon, the puppet going stiff for a brief second before dying.  
  
"Thanks!" he yelled to Brigid.  
  
His mate nodded to him before most of the remaining puppets rushed her, dragging her to the ground and stabbing her to death.  
  
It happened within a few seconds.  
  
So quickly Brigid barely had a chance to scream.  
  
Martin screamed though. He screamed his wife's name over and over again, as he wrenched the knife from his shoulder and threw himself at the puppets, almost twenty of them and began tearing his way through them to reach her.  
  
He noticed Ezekiel out of the corner of his eye, running to help with Catherine's swords in his hands.  
  
He looked terrible.  
  
*****  
  
Zhuge parried a blow with his sword and punched the puppet that was trying skewer him with a kebab stick. It stumbled back but came at him again. He rolled to the left of its thrust and came up, his sword cutting through the air in an upward thrust of his own. The edge of his Tai-Chi sword stabbed into the puppet's temple, a hissing sound came from its lips before it fell to the ground, dead.  
  
Another came at him with an axe; he rolled backwards and evaded the clumsy attack. He got to his feet quickly and slid his sword though a middle-aged man's head.  
  
It collapsed to the ground and Zhuge twirled around, panting like a dog to face his next opponent.  
  
But none came.  
  
They had won, in a manner of speaking.  
  
Bodies. Everywhere!  
  
Some lying in piles, others out on their own. The ground was littered with body parts. Heads, both whole and partial, hands, arms and fingers.  
  
The stench of death was incredible.  
  
Zhuge's sword hung limply in his right hand, he'd lost his cloak, where and when, he just couldn't remember at the moment.  
  
He saw Burke on his knees several feet away, he was breathing heavily and looked awful. He was red from head to toe in other peoples' blood, his sword and one of Paul's pistols in his hands hung at his sides. His body glove was torn in a dozen places.  
  
Zhuge staggered over to his friend, almost slipping on some gore, as he did so. He looked down at the ground and felt like he was going to throw up. The tarmac road was slippery with blood, almost ankle deep in parts, despite the heavy rain.  
  
"Jesus Christ," he muttered to no one in particular.  
  
He reached Edmund and fell to his knees beside him.  
  
"Edmund?"  
  
Burke didn't answer; he just stared at the ground.  
  
"Edmund? Are you alright?"  
  
"Hell."  
  
Zhuge frowned. "What?"  
  
"I said Hell Zhuge," whispered Edmund. "You.me.we're in Hell Zhuge. If not in Hell.then we'll be there soon."  
  
Burke shut his eyes, as tears began to form.  
  
"Oh God Almighty.what the fuck have we done?" He sobbed.  
  
"We have done our job Inquisitor," a voice spoke from behind them. Zhuge and Edmund turned their heads to see Ezekiel standing near-by.  
  
His left eye had been torn out by a slash from an axe and blood was gushing from the socket. The stab wound in his belly was still bleeding. He was swaying slightly, as he stood before them. His arms were hanging limply at his sides, Catherine's swords dangling in his hands.  
  
Edmund and Zhuge stared at him in shock.  
  
How the Hell was he still standing?  
  
"We did our job Inquisitor," Ezekiel repeated. "And now.we have to finish this.we.we.we must stop that bastard from getting his claws on whatever it is here that he wants so badly that he's willing to let an entire town get wiped out."  
  
"He's right," said Martin tiredly. He was on his knees, roughly ten meters away from the rest of the group, cradling Brigid in his arms. He stroked her hair gently with his right hand. It looked like he had been crying. "She can't die in vain. she won't die in vain.I.I won't let that happen."  
  
He slowly rose to his feet, reaching for his hammer and shield. "If you back out now, then all this has been for nothing. The lives of my friends, the lives of these people, the life of.my.my wife. They would all have been lost in vain." He stood up, swaying from exhaustion and blood loss, and stared at them, his face hardening. "I'm going.if you don't come with me.then I hope you all rot in Hell." With that, he turned to head up the road.  
  
"Martin!" yelled Zhuge. The gargoyle turned to face the Chinese Inquisitor. Zhuge was forcing himself onto his feet, shrugging off the assistance Ezekiel tried to offer. "Give us a few minutes to rest.then we'll be on our way again."  
  
Martin nodded and sat down quietly, while Zhuge and Ezekiel tried to help Edmund to his feet.  
  
*****  
  
He could hear thunder, as a gale swept through the room, almost drowning out the sounds of the faces on the wall screaming.  
  
"Nearly there," he whispered to himself. The Codicium knew the Daemon's name. He just had to drag it out of it.  
  
Its hold on the knowledge he sought was almost gone. Whittling away bit by bit as forced his will upon it.  
  
~YOU WON'T TAKE ME! ~ Roared the Daemon.  
  
Brooklyn gritted his teeth. The pale blue shield surrounding him was growing thinner by the second under the relentless assault by the black flames.  
  
It was just a matter of time now.  
  
He focused more on the Codicium. He was so close now.  
  
A few more seconds.  
  
But his shield finally collapsed.  
  
Brooklyn sucked in a huge lung full of air just before the flames engulfed him again, shutting his eyes tight and trying to shut out the agony he felt again.  
  
~You can't win gargoyle, ~ said the staff triumphantly, ~serve me. Become my slave. Worship me as the humans do their god. ~  
  
Brooklyn ignored it, ignored the pain, his undivided attention upon the Codicium that the Conscience was leading him through.  
  
He searched, and searched.  
  
And found what he had been looking for.  
  
~Gargoyle? ~  
  
Brooklyn's eyes shot open, blazing with pale blue light. The pain had vanished.  
  
~Uh Oh. ~  
  
Brooklyn threw his head back, raising the Black Sun Staff in both his hands above his head.  
  
"THZUL'GZHU'VSRA'KOTLLZ!"  
  
The Daemon howled at him in blind rage. The black flames receded back into the staff, as the room began to return to normal, the chunks of the altar moved from where they hung mid-air, back together in the centre of the room. The faces on the walls vanished as the winds died down and the night sky above returned to normalcy.  
  
Brooklyn looked down at his body.  
  
It was untouched.  
  
The flames were an illusion.  
  
"Makes sense," he said to himself. "What's the point in flambéing every potential candidate for the weapons?"  
  
He smiled to himself before yawning. Despite the illusion, he was exhausted. He swayed slightly.  
  
~Are you tired.Master? ~ Asked the Daemon.  
  
"Very."  
  
~Then rest. There is nothing to fear from me any longer. You are the Anointed, the Chosen of the Dark Prince. I cannot hurt you. ~  
  
Brooklyn nodded his thanks and slumped onto his side, asleep before his head even hit the floor.  
  
*****  
  
"Well I must say you did a fantastic job!" yelled Rincewald, his voice laden with sarcasm. "Spiffing in fact!"  
  
"Shut your trap Necromancer!" replied Furcifer. "Talk to me like that again and I'll rip you stiff shagging balls off! You hear me?"  
  
Riana clapped her hands in excitement. "My turn!" she yelled happily.  
  
"It is most certainly not," said Rincewald. "This is my town. So I get to go now that Mr. I'm great cause I've got a big black coat is finished."  
  
Furcifer eyed both of them dangerously. "Both of you shut up right now. I'm not finished just yet."  
  
"Oh yes you are," said a voice at the end of the picnic area.  
  
The three turned and saw the survivors of the Kill-Team, Martin and Ezekiel, and Inquisitors Burke and Liang.  
  
None looked particularly happy.  
  
Burke was covering the three of them with Paul's berretta, while Ezekiel pointed one of his sawn-off elephant shotguns at them.  
  
"Holy Inquisition," said Zhuge slowly, his Tai-Chi sword firmly in his hands. "Surrender yourselves or die."  
  
"Oh Balls," said Rincewald, he looked over to where his staff was lying on one of the picnic tables. "Shit."  
  
Riana smiled sadistically, as she rubbed her hands together. "I knew I was going to ice something today!"  
  
"Rincewald," said Furcifer slowly, as he raised his hands above him.  
  
The Necromancer turned his head in Furcifer's direction. "Yes?"  
  
Furcifer grinned horribly, "It's still my turn."  
  
Furcifer suddenly threw out a backhand swipe at the Necromancer, hitting him hard in the gut, the force of the blow sending Rincewald high in the air and crashing through several bushes, as he landed on the opposite end of the picnic area. Almost twenty meters away.  
  
Burke began firing at Furcifer before Rincewald was even half way over the first picnic table.  
  
Furcifer rolled below the few bullets Burke had left, the Englishman swearing wildly and drawing his sword, as Furcifer came up and ran at him.  
  
Ezekiel fired at Riana with both barrels of his shotgun, the recoil nearly fracturing his wrist, he tossed the gun aside as Riana rolled backwards, below the two rounds that blew out a huge chunk of the wall of sediment behind her.  
  
Cackling madly she pulled out her whip and kukri, taunting the burgundy gargoyle before narrowly dodging a thrust by Zhuge. She blocked a follow-up slash by him with her kukri and kicked him hard in the right knee.  
  
She smiled as she heard the bones crack and the knee joint going out of place while Zhuge screamed in pain and collapsed onto his side.  
  
She moved to slit his throat, but was sent flying when Ezekiel rammed into her in a shoulder charge.  
  
She rolled with the fall and came up to see the burgundy-coloured gargoyle on one knee, checking the Inquisitor.  
  
Without even thinking she hurled her kukri knife at him while he wasn't looking. She let out a sigh of delight when the blade buried itself into his head, just behind the right ear.  
  
Ezekiel went rigid, an odd hissing sound coming from his open mouth. Riana grabbed her whip and shot it out at him. It wrapped around his neck and Riana pulled her end in both hands with all her might, dragging the gargoyle over to her across the ground before tearing the dagger out of the side of his head and sitting on his stomach to watch his eye slowly glaze over. After a few seconds of staring into his surprised face, she slit his throat with the kukri in one quick slash, licking her lips, as his blood sprayed out over her face.  
  
She looked over at Inquisitor Liang and smiled.  
  
He'd blacked out.  
  
She turned her attention to where Furcifer was fighting Burke and Martin.  
  
The huge black gargoyle swung his hammer at Furcifer, but he ducked below the swing and sent Martin skidding across the muddy ground from a back hand slap, as Inquisitor Burke slashed at his face, missing by millimetres.  
  
Furcifer laughed and grabbed hold of the blade with his bare hand, grinning evilly at Burke.  
  
His grin was short lived though. The flesh around his hand began to blister and hiss, as if being burned by something.  
  
Furcifer's eyes widened, as he hissed in pain, letting go of the blade and staggering back from the Englishman.  
  
"AGH!!! BLESSED! FUCKING, FUCKING BLESSED!"  
  
"You think that's bad!" screamed Burke, reaching into his sleeveless black leather jacket, pulling out a small vile of water. He flipped the cap open. "TRY SOME OF THIS YOU MURDERING BASTARD!"  
  
He hurled the vile at Furcifer, water spraying all over his face. Furcifer screamed, his voice changing into something unearthly, as he did so. The water burned his face; hissing wildly and making smoke rise from his skin. Furcifer's hands covered his face.  
  
"HOLY WATER! YOU FUCKING ENGLISH CUNT! I'LL TEAR YOUR MOTHER-FUCKING HEAD OFF FOR THIS!"  
  
He screamed even louder when Martin jumped him from behind, bringing his war hammer, its head blazing in electrical fire from the power pack being set to full, crashing into Furcifer's lower back.  
  
Furcifer went rigid for a moment, as he was electrocuted, before spinning around on the balls of feet to face Martin. The gargoyle stared at him dumbly before he tried to take another swing with his hammer, this time trying to bring it down on Furcifer's head.  
  
Furcifer caught the shaft in one hand while shoving his other hand straight through Martin's chest.  
  
For a moment both stood still, staring into each other's eyes, before Martin slowly lowered his head to look at his chest. Furcifer's right hand had broken through his body armour, his jet-black skin, his ribs and his left lung. Martin looked back up at Furcifer. He slowly opened his mouth, as if to say something. Furcifer leaned in closer to hear.  
  
But Martin spat in his face instead.  
  
Swearing a blue streak, Furcifer wrenched Martin's hammer out of his limp hand, bringing the still flaming head onto that of its master's while tearing his right hand, now slick with gore, out of the gargoyle's chest in the same instant.  
  
The top of Martin's head caved in from the force with which Furcifer brought the hammer down. His head detonating the next instant, as the power pack on the hammer blew out, sending his falling corpse into mad spasms as it hit the ground.  
  
Furcifer twirled around just in time to grab Burke's right hand, as the Inquisitor came at him, attempting to cleave his head off.  
  
He crushed his wrist, smiling sadistically, as Burke dropped his sword and screamed in agony.  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" roared the Englishman. "A FUCKING VAMPIRE? A DAEMON?"  
  
Furcifer smiled.  
  
"None of the above."  
  
And with that, always being a man who kept his promises down to the letter, he tore Burke's head off.  
  
*****  
  
~Master?~  
  
Brooklyn stirred slightly before his eyes slowly opened.  
  
"What is it?" he said, yawning as sat up. The floor felt strangely warm.  
  
~The battle is over. We are the victors,~ replied the daemon.  
  
Brooklyn frowned, "what battle?"  
  
~The battle against the Inquisitors. All have fallen. Furcifer has defeated them.~  
  
"Furcifer? He did it by himself?"  
  
~Well, Riana helped.a little.~  
  
Brooklyn stood up, leaning on the Black Sun and walking over to the altar. His own staff was lying upon it.  
  
He picked it up in his left hand while holding the Black Sun in his right. He still felt exhausted.  
  
Leaning on both, he walked slowly over to the door.  
  
*****  
  
Furcifer stared down at Zhuge Liang. His dark green eyes filled with hate.  
  
"Disgusting humans," he muttered.  
  
He held Riana's Glock 9mm in his left hand.  
  
His handsome face and the palm and fingers of his right hand were very badly burnt.  
  
He emptied an entire clip into Zhuge's face before handing the pistol back to Riana.  
  
"Thank you my dear."  
  
"No problem," replied Riana as she reloaded the pistol.  
  
"Did I miss something?" asked a voice behind them.  
  
Riana and Furcifer turned to see Brooklyn standing at the entranceway to where the Black Sun was kept.  
  
He was swaying slightly and held both his own staff and the Black Sun in his hands.  
  
"Nothing important," said Rincewald while eyeing Furcifer hatefully, "Just a few pests that needed taking care of."  
  
Brooklyn nodded and started to walk forward. He stumbled though and dropped his own staff from his left hand; it clattered to the ground while Brooklyn put both his hands around the Black Sun to hold himself up.  
  
Riana moved over to him and threw his left arm around her shoulder while wrapping her right arm around his waist.  
  
"A little tired?" she asked playfully.  
  
"Learning a Daemon's true name is a lot more difficult than I thought," replied Brooklyn, leaning on her slightly for support. He looked suddenly alarmed and turned to look at Furcifer. "I'm not gonna have to go through all that again to get the other weapons am I?"  
  
Furcifer just smiled and shrugged.  
  
"Come on," said Rincewald suddenly, "let's get you in the van before anyone else shows up."  
  
After they'd put Brooklyn in the only bed in Rincewald's camper van to rest. Rincewald came out again; he appeared to be a little flustered.  
  
"Fuzzy! Fuzzy!"  
  
"What are you doing?" snapped Furcifer. He had been rubbing his burnt face while sitting at one of the picnic tables when the Necromancer had exited the camper.  
  
"You knocked Fuzzy out of my hands when you sent me flying across those picnic tables!" yelled Rincewald, "I didn't have a chance to look for him before!" He looked around the picnic area desperately. "FUZZY!"  
  
"Squeak."  
  
Rincewald twirled around to where the sound had come from, his face lighting up, "Fuzzy!"  
  
The black guinea pig was sitting on one of the picnic tables several meters away from them.  
  
Furcifer frowned. "What's that hanging out of its mouth?"  
  
Rincewald walked up to the table quickly and picked Fuzzy up in both hands. He examined what was hanging out of his familiar's mouth. It was a few inches long, very furry and white with a black tip. It was moving slightly of it's own accord.  
  
"It's a cat's tail," replied Rincewald in a matter-of-fact tone.  
  
"Why, exactly is there a cat's tail hanging out of your guinea-pig's mouth?" Asked Furcifer, as he eyed the rodent in the Necromancer's arms very suspiciously.  
  
"I imagine it's because he ate a kitty," replied Rincewald, before putting the fat guinea pig up to his face and cooing in a voice that would suggest he was trying to entertain a baby, "isn't that right Fuzzy. Yes it is. You're an evil guinea-piggy aren't you?"  
  
"Squeak."  
  
Rincewald suddenly stopped when he noticed the baffled look Furcifer was giving him.  
  
"You are a sick, disgusting, evil, twisted, perverted old man," said Furcifer after a while.  
  
Rincewald frowned at him, "I resent being called old."  
  
Both smiled at each other.  
  
"Are you coming?" Asked Rincewald, as he turned to get in the driver's seat of his camper.  
  
"No," replied Furcifer, as he rose, yawning slightly, "I'm going to get a facial, seduce a few women, nuns probably and then I shall meet up with you again."  
  
"I'll see you in a few days then," said Rincewald, getting into the driver's seat and slamming the door. "Oh, one thing," said the Necromancer suddenly, as he turned the key and the engine revved.  
  
"What is it?" Asked Furcifer.  
  
"Would you mind giving us a bit of a push, would you? It's just the tires tend to get a little stuck in the mud."  
  
Furcifer grumbled something inexplicable under his breath, as he strode around to the back of the camper to give it a push.  
  
As he did so, Rincewald floored the accelerator, spraying mud all over Furcifer as the wheels spun in the mud, before dislodging the camper and sending it speeding along the bloody road down to the town.  
  
"THAT'S FOR MAKING ME MISS THE FUN DICKHEAD!" yelled Rincewald, as he sped away cackling madly.  
  
Furcifer looked down at his ruined clothes, his fists shaking slightly.  
  
"Bastard."  
  
Eight hours later  
  
Dominique Destine looked around at the carnage, her mouth wide open in shock.  
  
"What the fuck happened here?" Yelled Fang, as he looked around at the horde of bodies and flaming wrecks in the town centre.  
  
"I.I don't know," she replied, a little shakily.  
  
This was unbelievable. She hadn't seen carnage on this scale since the Second World War!  
  
Faith wandered around, dressed in a black armoured body glove, a long black leather coat that fell to her knees and heavy black boots. She had her sawn- off shotgun in one hand and an Uzi that Dominique had lent her in the other. A single-edged long sword hung over her back in a scabbard, while she kept four Glock 9mm pistols in holsters on her body glove and her pair of tonfa in her coat.  
  
She knelt down beside one of the corpses and turned it over. An old, wrinkled face with no hair looked up at her. There were two bullet holes in his head.  
  
She heard rapid and very panicked breathing behind her and turned around to see what was the matter.  
  
It was Mal; he was standing, staring at the death all around him and shaking violently. He was hyperventilating.  
  
"He wouldn't do this.he wouldn't do this." he repeated, as if it were a mantra.  
  
He and all the other gargoyles had been turned human by Jezebel to aid them in their search; all were wearing armoured body gloves and attachments while carrying various arms.  
  
"Hey. Take it easy Mal," said Fang kindly, taking his friend by the shoulders. "Look, how about I take you inside and.get you some soda eh?"  
  
"There's so many.so many," said Mal, still staring out at the corpses. He could see ravens and other birds hopping along the ground among the bodies, eating eyeballs and nibbling at pale, cold flesh.  
  
And the smell.  
  
He was sure he was going to throw up any second now.  
  
Fang could see it two. He grabbed Mal's head in his hands and forced his friend's gaze away from all the death.  
  
"Mal! Mal look at me!" Yelled Fang. Mal turned his head and looked at the mutate in the eyes. Fang could see tears forming and felt a pang of guilt for exposing Malibu to this. "Come on. I'll take you back inside the van."  
  
"Why would he do this?" Whimpered Mal as Fang slowly led him back to Demona's armoured bus.  
  
"I don't know," replied Fang. He hugged Mal to his chest, as the clone started crying. "I don't know."  
  
The others looked on in sympathy, as Fang closed the door to the van.  
  
"Poor guy," said Broadway, as he tightened his grip on the war-hammer that Demona had given him.  
  
"I.I guess he's never had to deal with anything like this before," said Lex, sighing. "No one should have to deal with this sort of stuff."  
  
Both he and Broadway had seen their own share of the aftermath of battles while they defended Wyvern.  
  
But, those bodies hadn't been in as many pieces, as some of these were.  
  
"Does Brooklyn carry any guns?" Asked Faith.  
  
"I believe he only took a pair of pistols," said Jezebel. She still wore her usual clothing, despite the fact everyone else was kitted out in body armour of some form.  
  
Faith bent down and picked up a discarded cartridge, one of hundreds that littered the ground.  
  
"This is from an assault rifle," said Faith after a moment's examination. "There's others here that look to be from a minigun, others are used shotgun shells. There are also a lot of 9mm rounds."  
  
She seemed to be in deep thought for a moment.  
  
"And what does all this mean?" Asked Goliath, getting more and more enraged at his former second-in-command by the second.  
  
"I.I think," started Faith, "I think.this was done by my people."  
  
The others stared at her in shock for a moment, taking in this new revelation.  
  
"Your people did this?" Yelled Broadway, as he scanned the bodies littering the street. "I thought you people were supposed to be protecting innocents from this weird shit?"  
  
"We are!" Replied Faith, quickly. "I don't know what happened here, but I know Zhuge must have had a good reason for doing all.this." She looked down at the ground for a moment before adding, "I hope," under her breath.  
  
They advanced quickly to where Dominique and Jezebel said they could feel a great deal of magical backwash.  
  
They encountered a lot more bodies on the way, which were also getting the treatment from various scavengers, crows and ravens mostly. After about ten minutes walking they came upon a dirt road leading to a picnic area that sat on a hill overlooking the town.  
  
None of them had ever seen so many corpses, a lot of them with without heads, or worse, some with only parts of their heads remaining on their bodies.  
  
It was at this point that both Lexington and Broadway threw up and had to head back to the van aswell. Leaving just Goliath, Jezebel, Faith and Dominique to continue up the road.  
  
They found the bodies of Catherine, Brigid, Sebastian and Paul a little further on.  
  
Goliath tried to ask Faith who these gargoyles were, but stopped when he saw that this visibly shook her.  
  
He decided he'd ask her later.  
  
They eventually reached the top of the hill and the picnic area, finding six more bodies. Four of which Faith recognised.  
  
She didn't say anything. She just stood there, staring at them. She was shaking slightly and Goliath led her away somewhere where she could be alone for a few minutes.  
  
"Well," said Jezebel after they'd gone. "I think we're screwed at this point."  
  
She looked in Dominique's direction to seek a reply and frowned when she saw what she was doing.  
  
She was kneeling down near a wall of natural sedimentary rock that had a few bullet holes in it. Her hands were scraping mud off something long and shiny on the ground.  
  
"What is that?" asked the old lady, coming over quickly to help.  
  
After a few seconds, they uncovered Brooklyn's staff.  
  
"Why would he leave his staff behind?" Asked Jezebel, as Dominique picked the magnificent staff out of the wet mud.  
  
"Perhaps he doesn't think he needs it anymore," replied Dominique.  
  
"In that case.we really are screwed."  
  
"Not quite."  
  
Jezebel eyed the red head warily. "What are you talking about Demona? We were too late to stop him getting whatever the Hell was hidden around here. We don't know where the rest of these weapons are. What can we possibly do?"  
  
Dominique closed her eyes slowly, she suddenly looked very tired.  
  
"There is one thing old woman," she said, her voice heavy, as she dragged up ancient memories while picking the staff up in both hands and examining it.  
  
It was perfect.  
  
"There is.one thing left.that I can try."  
  
Beyond Time and Space  
  
Zhuge stirred, his eyes fluttering open, as he sat up and quickly took in his surroundings.  
  
There was sand everywhere.  
  
He looked up at the sky. There was no sun or moon, or any clouds or stars for that matter. The sky was a deep shade of purple.  
  
"Where am I?" He asked no one in particular.  
  
THE DESERT, replied a voice that sounded like slabs of granite hitting each other.  
  
Zhuge spun about in all directions, looking for the owner of the very strange voice.  
  
A figure stood several meters from him. It stood at seven foot and was dressed completely in black robes. It carried a scythe.  
  
"I take it that your Death?" Asked Zhuge.  
  
YOU ARE CORRECT.  
  
"I guess that means I'm dead?"  
  
ONCE AGAIN YOU ARE CORRECT.  
  
Zhuge nodded and looked around at the endless stretches of sand all around him.  
  
"Is this Hell?"  
  
NO.  
  
"Heaven?"  
  
NO.  
  
"Ah.Purgatory."  
  
IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.  
  
"What am I supposed to do here?"  
  
WALK.  
  
"Why?"  
  
BECAUSE JUDGEMENT AWAITS YOU AT THE END.  
  
"Will I meet old friends along the way?"  
  
Death smiled at him. MAYBE.  
  
Zhuge looked at Death, suspiciously. "What about my mission? Will he be stopped?"  
  
IT'S TOO SOON TO TELL I'M AFRAID INQUISITOR. HAVE FAITH. WHAT MUST BE WILL BE.  
  
Zhuge looked over the vast expanses of sand. A tiny smile spread across his lips.  
  
"I have always had faith my friend," he said after a moment. "Always."  
  
He nodded to the figure in black before picking a direction at random and heading off at a brisk walk, smiling when he realised that he didn't have to walk with his limp anymore.  
  
"What must be will be," he said to himself. He wasn't too sure what was going to happen, but something told him that it would turn out all right in the end.  
  
Death watched Inquisitor Zhuge Liang go until he was a tiny silhouette.  
  
"And when exactly will I be allowed to face my judgement?" Asked a bitter voice with a strong Scottish accent.  
  
Death turned to face a man who hadn't been there a few seconds ago. He appeared to be in his mid fifties, dressed in black and with grey hair, a beard and a very large frown.  
  
IF THERE IS ONE THING I HAVE LEARNED OVER THE AGES YOUR MAJESTY, said Death.  
  
IT IS PATIENCE. NOW WOULD YOU LIKE A TEACAKE?  
  
The other figure in black crossed his arms and eyed Death impatiently.  
  
"No thank you."  
  
ARE YOU SURE? Asked Death, smiling. THERE'RE TO DIE FOR.  
  
Macbeth growled something under his breath.  
  
"Why won't you let me go? I'd like to be with my family!" he yelled suddenly. "I want to go home! I'm sick of this damned limbo!"  
  
AS I SAID BEFORE YOUR MAJESTY-  
  
"I told you to just call me Macbeth!"  
  
Death paused a moment before continuing.  
  
AS I SAID BEFORE.MACBETH, YOU STILL HAVE A PART TO PLAY.  
  
"What part? Why the Hell can't you tell me?" roared the Scottish King. "I am sick of your cryptic bullshit! TELL ME!"  
  
NO.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW.  
  
Macbeth stared at Death for a moment. "What do you mean you don't know?"  
  
I MEAN I DON'T KNOW, sighed Death. YOU STILL HAVE A PART TO PLAY. WHAT PART I DON'T KNOW, WHEN YOU ARE TO PLAY THIS PART.I DON'T KNOW THAT EITHER. ALL I KNOW OF THE MATTER IS THAT YOU ARE NOT FINISHED JUST YET.  
  
Death wandered over to Macbeth and placed a skeletal hand on his shoulder. Macbeth sighed sadly and looked at the ground for a moment.  
  
"I did this," he said after a while. "I should never have gotten him involved."  
  
THERE IS NO POINT IN WORRYING ABOUT WHAT IS IN THE PAST. TRUST ME ON THIS. IT NEVER HELPS.  
  
"I was so convinced that she would destroy them."  
  
YOU COULDN'T HAVE POSSIBLY KNOWN THAT IS WAS THE BOOK DOING THAT TO YOU.  
  
"Even so.it's still my fault. If I hadn't gotten Brooklyn involved-"  
  
THEN IT WOULD HAVE MANIPULATED FANG, OR MALIBU.OR JEZEBEL. IT WOULD HAVE TAKEN A GREAT DEAL LONGER.BUT IT WOULD HAVE SUCCEEDED. IT PICKED BROOKLYN BECAUSE IT HAD EVERYTHING IT NEEDED TO WORK WITH.  
  
Both stood in silence for a very long time, the only audible sound was that of a very light breeze as it stirred the sand at their feet.  
  
"What if he succeeds?"  
  
HE MUST NOT SUCCEED, said Death.  
  
IF HE DOES.  
  
Death paused and looked out into the desert.  
  
Although Macbeth couldn't see it, there were thousands of souls walking along, all completely oblivious to each other's existence. Every race, every creed, the good, the evil, the prey.  
  
and the predators.  
  
IF HE DOES.I'M AFRAID I'LL BE VERY BUSY.  
  
To be continued.  
  
Well? Like it? Hate it? Please tell me! Huge thanks to Storyseeker for beta reading and giving me advice on this episode, you rock! Extra big thanks to anyone out there who likes the series so far, you guys rock too! Remember, ideas, advice, comments etc. welcome! Hell I'll even accept flames if they are reasonable and contain no less than 10 swear words.  
  
Until the next time.  
  
Darkness 


	13. Desperate Measures, Part 1: The Truth?

Desperate Measures, Part 1: The Truth?  
Demona's big armoured Van  
  
Jezebel frowned as she drove the enormous vehicle along the road, driving perhaps just a little too aggressively.  
  
What Demona had proposed was insanity!  
  
Reckless! Dangerous! They might even be helping Brooklyn along!  
  
Her hands squeezed the driving wheel tightly.  
  
But it was the only way either of them could think of.  
  
She cursed silently under her breath and turned her full attention back to the road.  
  
*****  
  
"You care a lot about him don't you?"  
  
Fang turned his attention to where Faith was sitting opposite him. He looked down at Malibu, who was leaning up against him, asleep. He had been crying on Fang's shoulder while the others had been outside looking through the carnage in Sudeny and had eventually fallen asleep there. Fang didn't have the heart to move him and had his wings around the clone to keep him warm.  
  
He smiled.  
  
"Yeah," he whispered, "I do."  
  
He looked down at his friend affectionately. "He didn't really have the best start in life.but he still turned out okay." He looked at Faith. "He was cloned from Brooklyn a few years ago."  
  
"So that's what he meant when he said Brooklyn was technically his dad," said Faith.  
  
Fang nodded before continuing. "Anyway, his so called brothers and sister started giving him a really hard time a while back. I was the only person he could talk to. No one else would listen." He sighed. "Some nights he used to get really upset after the others beat the crap out of him, and no- one would believe him cause they couldn't understand how creatures as sweet as Delilah could turn on her own brother."  
  
He growled.  
  
"Except Maggie. She knew. But she didn't do anything because she hated him."  
  
"Why? I think Malibu's very nice."  
  
"It's cause he looks like Brooklyn."  
  
Faith frowned at this. "Why would that make any difference?"  
  
"Brooklyn tried to court her once but she couldn't stand him," snorted Fang. "That's all the reason she needed. Hateful little bitch." His face hardened. "I won't let anyone ever hurt him again. I swear it."  
  
"I guess I was wrong about you," said Faith, her voice heavy. "You aren't as big an asshole as I remember."  
  
Fang suppressed a laugh, gritting his teeth and grinning. "Well.you.are pretty much the way I remember you."  
  
He stopped dead when he noticed the look Faith was giving him.  
  
"But that's not a bad thing," he said quickly. "I.I."  
  
He stopped and smiled. "I always loved the way you really beat the crap out of that guy that tried to mug you the second week we were seeing each other."  
  
Faith put her hands over her mouth to try and stop herself from giggling but failed miserably. "Oh God! I remember that! It wasn't a mugger though was it? It was your friend Johnny!"  
  
Fang thought for a minute before his smile grew even larger. "That's right! He jumped out to give us a scare and you kicked him in the balls!"  
  
Both fought desperately to keep themselves from laughing so as not to wake Mal.  
  
Fang uncapped his wing from around the clone and slid out from under him, gently laying him on the couch and took a cushion he found and placed it under Mal's head. He started looking around for a blanket when Faith handed him her leather coat. He whispered a thanks and placed over Mal's sleeping form. He moved over to the opposite side of the van and sat a few feet from where Faith was.  
  
They remained silent for several minutes, Faith looking at the floor, while Fang stared at her. She looked terrible. Goliath had said she was pretty shaken up when they found the rest of her team.  
  
Goliath had said that she took a DNA sample of each of them, before using some sort of acid in capsules in her coat to destroy the bodies.  
  
No one could know they existed, she explained. If people knew why they had to exist, there might be a global panic.  
  
"I'm sorry about your friends Faith," whispered Fang.  
  
"They weren't my friends."  
  
Fang frowned. "Then what were they?"  
  
"Acquaintances," explained Faith sadly. "I have very few friends.mostly just acquaintances." She smiled bitterly at him, "you were one of the very few people I knew who could stand being around me."  
  
Now it was Fang's turn to look at the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry Faith," he said eventually, sincerely. "I was a lot younger then." He grinned. "I was.stupid.so fucking stupid back then.and.I am really sorry I hurt you." He hung his head slightly in shame. "When I was in that glass cage of Talon's.I used to think about you a lot when Mal wasn't around.I used to wonder what it would have been like if I'd just not freaked out when you suggested we get married.you seemed so damned urgent about it suddenly."  
  
He looked up at her, "was there some reason for that?"  
  
"No.just my father found out we made love a lot and him being sort of super religious.well he lectured me for hours on how it's a mortal sin to sleep with someone you're not married to."  
  
She smiled slightly. "He went on and on about how I was going to go straight to Hell if I didn't break up with you." Her smile widened a little. "And me being young and in love.and a little rebellious.I decided to show him up by getting you to marry me." She looked up at him, her green eyes boring into Fang's, her smile becoming mischievous. "The best thing about it would have been that the father of the bride is expected to pay for the wedding.  
  
"Don't tell me that's why you wanted to marry me?" asked Fang, a little shocked at this little revelation.  
  
The smile on Faith's face vanished. "No.it wasn't.I suppose it really was because I loved you Peter.you've no idea what I went through after you left me.I was so angry at you then, and I still am a little.I wanted to hurt people, badly.after my father died I sold all his property and started wandering the globe. I'm not very sure why I did that now.but I was sure then. I think I was looking for you." She smiled at the way he grimaced at her before continuing. "Anyway. after about two years of wandering around I found myself in the Philippines. I came across this small missionary settlement out in the forests. Some people had died there recently in mysterious circumstances and the local priest had mistaken me for someone else. I didn't know who then but he told me some evil force was killing the villagers off and that he had contacted the bishop about it after the police couldn't find anything as he was convinced it was the work of the devil."  
  
She paused as if she had to force the next part of her story out.  
  
"I tried to explain to him that it was probably some sort of big cat but he showed me one of the bodies." She shivered. "A child. It had been completely drained of blood and the look of terror on its face."  
  
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Fang put a clawed hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.  
  
"You don't have to go on if you don't want too," he whispered.  
  
Faith shook her head. "I want to Peter.I want you to know just how I got involved in all this mess. How I ended up after you deserted me."  
A flashback: An island in the Sulu Archipelago, the Philippines, May 1991  
  
Father Alessandro Sanchez, Catholic priest and teacher, stared at Faith as she checked her things one last time before she headed out.  
  
"I wish to come with you," he said after a moment.  
  
Faith turned to look at him. She had only known him for a few hours, but she genuinely liked him.  
  
He was heavily tanned and quite thin. The majority of the food that fed the small population of the town was rice and the occasional rabbit that were stored in a den that the Church had set up to provide some meat in the peoples' diets. They were all quite thin around here.  
  
The father's faith had never wavered in the twelve years that he had been a missionary to these islands. He had seen a great many evils, all the product of man, yet what was killing those of his parish was not man made. It was not natural at all. It was vile, unearthly and evil.  
  
She opened her mouth to tell him no, but paused when she looked at the resolve in his sea-green eyes.  
  
"I only have one gun Father," she said eventually, drawing her late father's shotgun. It was double-barrelled, with a rosewood handle. It used to sit over the fireplace in another life. She had sawn off the majority of the barrels and had reduced the stock to a simple handle with the help of a saw, some files and a bit of sand paper, not bothering to paint it over.  
  
Father Sanchez smiled at her. He took a woodcutter's axe that a villager offered him as he passed by. He made a few awkward swings with it in one hand. Faith had to restrain herself from laughing.  
  
The priest noticed her amusement anyway. His smile vanished and the determination came back again.  
  
"I may not be skilled in any form of fighting like you my child," he said coldly, "but I will not stand by and let this devil kill any more of my flock."  
  
"Very well Father," said Faith. "But tell me. What should they do if you get killed?"  
  
The priest looked behind him. The majority of the village, nearly fifty people stood behind them. A lot of them looked very afraid of whatever it was out there that had been killing them off and feeding off them like cattle.  
  
Sanchez smiled encouragingly at them.  
  
"My beloved friends," he said. He had taught them all English quite a long time ago. "I must leave you for a while. But do not fear. I go now to fight this devil. I, and this brave woman whom God has sent to help us. Pray for our safe return my children."  
  
There was an outcry from the villagers. Over half the men stepped forward to volunteer to go with them, but Father Sanchez refused their pleas, selecting only a man who was quite big, with broad shoulders and a rather long bamboo spear and a machete, and a boy, barely fourteen, thin, with very untidy black hair and three slash marks across his right cheek.  
  
*****  
  
"The boy is called Sun. That man's his father, Liao," explained Father Sanchez about half an hour after the left. "Sun and his little brother were the last two to see that devil. It killed Sun's little brother and nearly got him aswell."  
  
"I see," replied Faith.  
  
Liao had moved up ahead, he was checking the trail that Sun and his little brother had taken the night they had been attacked. The trail was still fairly fresh, as the attack had only occurred two days ago.  
  
After several hours of moving through the woods they came across a series of caves that opened up in the ground in a clearing.  
  
"The security forces checked these," explained Sanchez. "But they couldn't find anything. It's the only place on the island that that devil could be hiding.  
  
The three stood looking at Faith, waiting for suggestions from her. She stood thinking for a moment before looking around at the clearing from where she stood.  
  
She noticed something.  
  
"What's that?" she asked, pointing to an area with mostly bushes and a few ancient trees.  
  
She strode over to it quickly, the others falling in behind. She broke through the first few bushes and came across a half dozen marked graves. Ancient wooden crosses marked them; only one was still standing, bent over, eaten away by the damp and by time.  
  
"Whose graves are these?" asked Faith.  
  
"American soldiers," replied Sanchez. "They died here during the American occupation in about 1907. A guerrilla attack I believe. Filipinos ambushed about twenty of them. They drove them off and buried these six men out here."  
  
Faith looked at the graves suspiciously. There was something.not right about them. Especially that one with the cross still standing, more or less. She bent down and traced her hand over the soil in front of it.  
  
It was loose.  
  
"Tell Liao to go back and get some shovels."  
  
*****  
  
Faith and the others remained in the small graveyard while Liao rushed back to get the shovels. While they waited Father Sanchez blessed Faith's weapons. Her shotgun, a machete and a small knife that she kept on a strap under the left sleeve of her long sleeve, dark green blouse.  
  
"I am amazed that you do not carry more," said the priest after he was finished.  
  
"Believe it or not Father I don't go looking for trouble," replied Faith.  
  
She shot a quick glance over to where Sun was sitting. He looked quite nervous.  
  
"Don't you think you should send him back?" she whispered.  
  
The priest looked over to where the boy sat, staring at the grave they were about to defile.  
  
He sighed uncomfortably before returning his gaze to Faith. "He feels terrible that he could not aid his brother. He told me he wanted to make amends and kill the monster that did this." He shook his head. "I would not have let him come but his father wanted this. He is a strict man, but quite fair."  
  
"If you ask me he sounds quite stupid."  
  
"He is a good man. And Sun is a wonderful boy. I was actually thinking of getting him into the Church." Sanchez smiled at her. "His own faith is quite unshakeable.and he was the first child I baptised out here. I've grown quite fond of him."  
  
It was about twenty minutes before sunset when Liao returned. He, Faith and Father Sanchez began digging immediately while Sun stood near them, his hand lingering near the handle of the machete in his belt as he watched them dig.  
  
They dug without pause until the sun began to dip over the trees and Liao gathered some branches together to start a fire. Faith climbed out of the grave, Father Sanchez helping her up.  
  
"We've dug about three and a half feet," she said as she headed over to where she had laid her rucksack. She pulled out a canteen of water and took a few gulps before offering it to the Sanchez. The priest took it gratefully and took a small sip before handing it to Liao and Sun.  
  
"So," said the Father. "What do you believe is in that grave?"  
  
"I don't know," replied Faith, keeping her eyes on the open grave. "But the earth was disturbed there quite recently." She frowned, deep in thought. "Someone buried something down there not too long ago and I want to know what it is."  
  
They rested for five minutes before Liao made a fire torch for Sun to hold over them while they continued to dig.  
  
Father Sanchez was standing in the grave, throwing dirt out of the hole when it happened.  
  
The ground beneath his feet trembled, before an inhuman growl came from the loose earth.  
  
The others pulled him out quite quickly, swearing and scrambling for weapons.  
  
Faith drew her shotgun and stood at the foot of the grave, cocking both barrels and secretly hoping to herself that this was just some big angry mole.  
  
It wasn't.  
  
The head came through the soil first, the creature sitting up straight and looking at the quartet with Hellish, yellow eyes that reminded Faith of a wild animal.  
  
She brought her shotgun to bear on the thing's head but it was faster, rising to it's feet and leaping out of the defiled grave and above the group just as she fired one of the barrels, doing nothing but sending up a small shower of dirt as the round smashed into the ground.  
  
They spun to face the creature but it landed on its haunches and leapt, performing a backhand swipe, hitting Liao across the face and sending him flying back into his son. Both toppled over into the open grave, Sun screaming in terror as his father's unconscious form pinned him to the ground.  
  
It made a move for Father Sanchez but the priest scooped up the fire torch Sun had dropped and thrust the flame into the creature's chest.  
  
There was the sickening smell of burning flesh in the air as the beast staggered back, hissing wildly at the priest as he pulled a small crucifix from his black robes and held it before the thing, yelling a psalm to himself.  
  
The creature hissed and backed off a little as Faith reloaded the spent barrel in her gun and cocked it again. She switched the gun to her right hand and drew her machete in her left before coming up beside the priest. It was only then that she got a good look at it.  
  
"My God."  
  
It would have stood close to two meters tall if it weren't hunched over. Its arms were almost as long as it's legs; held before it defensively, scythe like talons protruding from long, bony fingers. Its skin was paper white, with pointed ears. Its face almost resembled that of a bat, with a high-arched nose and disturbingly pointed canines clearly seen from its almost elastic mouth that was currently drooling. It was clothed only in a tattered pair of denim shorts that could have been blue once, but were now so caked with dirt and grim that they just seemed brown.  
  
It hissed menacingly.  
  
The pair backed away in horror.  
  
"What the Hell is that?" whispered Faith, keeping her gun aimed at the thing's head.  
  
"I.I do not know," replied Sanchez, dropping the torch and fumbling wildly in his belt for the woodcutter's axe. The thing was now taking slow, nearly animalistic steps towards them as they backed off from it, bobbing its head from side to side like a predator; apparently oblivious to the gun Faith had trained on it.  
  
"It does not appear very afraid of the gun Faith."  
  
"I know Father."  
  
"Why don't you shoot at it?"  
  
"I have a nasty feeling I'd only piss it off Father."  
  
The creature leapt at them before Sanchez had time to suggest she should try anyway.  
  
It hurtled through the air and straight at the Priest.  
  
Faith shot it in the chest with one barrel of the shotgun, catching it halfway to it's target, throwing it backwards to the ground, growling in fury as it rolled back and landed on it's feet. The hole in the centre of its chest was bleeding profusely but it just didn't seem to care.  
  
It roared, causing the pair to jump in terror before it rushed them.  
  
Faith raised her gun again, dipping it slightly before pulling the trigger as hard as she could. The gun buckled in her hand as the second barrel boomed, spitting fire and lead from the nozzle.  
  
The creature's right knee exploded in a grisly shower of blood and bone fragments. It stumbled before falling forward to its knees, howling in agony.  
  
Before Faith even knew what she was doing she was throwing herself at the monstrosity, flipping the empty gun in her hand so that the handle could be used as a club. The creature saw her coming and swiped at her. Faith blocked it with the machete before hitting the creature in the chin with an upward swipe of her own with the shotgun. The creature was raised to it's feet as it's head shot up, flaying it's arms wildly in front of it as it backed away from her.  
  
Faith came at it again, feinting to the left, waiting for it to try and block her attack before bring her right leg up and delivering a hard kick to the groin. The creature's eyes bulged out and it roared in pain. Faith hit it across the cheek with the handle end of the shotgun, drawing blood this time as well as dislodging a few teeth. She smiled sadistically when she heard the crack.  
  
She dislodged its jaw.  
  
The creature opened it's mouth to hiss at her, but only a gurgled groan came out of it's lips as it balled it's fist and hit her with a low right- cross her in the ribs, breaking two with ease.  
  
Faith dropped her shotgun and clutched her damaged chest, gritting her teeth and swinging the machete wildly in her left hand at the creature to keep it at bay while she staggered back.  
  
It felt like her lungs were on fire as she clutched her ribs tightly, fighting tears.  
  
It hurt so much.  
  
The creature took a swing at her, hand open this time, it's long talons cutting light slashes across her flat stomach. She hissed in pain and fell backwards on to her rump as the creature came at her again, leaning over her, it's eyes full of excitement from the kill to come.  
  
Father Sanchez came at it suddenly from the right, swinging the small axe in a horizontal arc with both hands. He caught the creature across the face, splitting both cheeks and halving its tongue.  
  
It staggered back in surprise from its new attacker, the priest swinging wildly and clumsily at it with the small axe, screaming at the top of his voice.  
  
It knocked the axe out of his hand with a backhand swipe before grabbing the holy man by the throat with its right hand, lifting him up as if he weighed nothing.  
  
Sanchez's legs dangled in mid-air as the creature began to squeeze his neck, cutting off his air supply and choking him. It looked him in the eyes as he felt his strength draining away from him.  
  
Faith was on it an instant later, bringing her machete down its out- stretched arm, severing it just above the elbow, and spraying both her and the priest in blood. The creature opened its mouth to scream but Faith swung upwards, cutting a huge gash across its throat, coating her face with even more blood.  
  
She shuddered at how cold it felt on her skin.  
  
The creature staggered back as Father Sanchez pulled its severed hand from his throat, coughing as he searched around for his axe.  
  
Faith came at it again from the right, pressing her advantage for all it was worth, forcing it back with her machete. It staggered back, its ruined knee hindering it and making it impossible to escape from her as it tried to deflect her attacks.  
  
They were near the edge of the clearing when Faith feinted another attack before twirling on the balls of her feet, swinging her blade in an upward arc, slicing the creature's fingers neatly off, leaving just the thumb on its left hand.  
  
She rammed into its chest, driving its back against a tree before driving her machete straight through its heart. She stabbed it so hard the blade came out through the back and lodged into the tree.  
  
The creature threw its head back and screamed.  
  
It lashed out at her with it's left leg, kicking her hard in the stomach and sending her flying back onto the ground, leaving the machete penetrating it's chest, pinning it to the tree.  
  
Father Sanchez came at it. He had found the axe and was holding it in both hands again. He ran right up to it as it tried to pull the machete out of its chest with its one thumbed hand.  
  
Blood was gushing from the slash across its throat and from its mouth.  
  
It heard the scream at it and looked up just as he swung the axe, decapitating it a single, clean swipe.  
  
Its head launched into the air as a fountain of blood erupted from beneath it. Covering both the priest and the nearby foliage in ice-cold blood.  
  
Its headless corpse went limp, still in its standing position, unable to fall due to the machete pinning it to the tree still.  
  
Sanchez turned to look at Faith, smiling at her weakly before falling to his knees, gasping for breath.  
  
Faith struggled to her feet, clutching her ribs tightly, trying to ignore the pain. She heard a moaning behind her and saw Liao and Sun climb out of the grave. Liao was cradling his jaw in one hand.  
  
She walked over to the decapitated beast, grabbing the handle of her machete in both hands and pulled as hard as she could, twisting the blade to try and loosen it. She heard the metal scrape against bone in its chest. There was a disgusting slurping sound as she dislodged the blade from its chest and pulled it out, the creature's body slumping to the ground a moment later.  
  
Father Sanchez walked up slowly beside her and looked down at the body.  
  
"What should we do with this?" he asked.  
  
Faith looked down at the hideous corpse. Her face hardening as she thought of its last victim.  
  
"Burn it," she replied coldly.  
  
*****  
  
The quartet gathered all the pieces of the creature Faith and Father Sanchez had killed and piled it into the centre of the clearing. They threw as much dry wood as they could find in the nearby area, covered the body in it and set it alight.  
  
Father Sanchez yelled prayers of exorcism as the air became polluted the stench of burning flesh.  
  
They took the burnt bones and tossed them in the grave, the priest sanctifying it again with blessings a piece of the Eucharist buried in with the soil. They then took its ashes and scattered them as far as they could.  
  
Only then did they leave for the village.  
  
*****  
  
"We have some bandages and a few first aid kits in the village," said Father Sanchez encouragingly as they headed back.  
  
Faith just clutched her ribs and nodded as they continued on.  
  
They came into the village at about mid-day and noticed something quite odd.  
  
They were men in the village. About half a dozen standing about in the centre of the town as many of the villagers watched one of them talking hastily with one of the women.  
  
"Were did they go? Quickly tell me!" yelled the man quite frantically. "If you don't tell me that thing will kill them!"  
  
He looked to be in his late fifties. His hair was grey with age and he had a thick, bushy moustache that almost covered his mouth. He was quite trim and muscular for his age. He was wearing a heavily armoured black body glove and a black, double-breasted storm coat that was hanging open. He spoke with a thick, Belgium accent. There was a golden handled cavalry sabre hanging from a belt at his waist.  
  
The woman he was interrogating pointed wildly in the direction of the quartet, yelling something incomprehensible. The man looked in their direction and raised his thick grey eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"Good Heavens! We were about to go looking for you," he said, seemingly relieved. He walked up to them quickly and offered his hand to Father Sanchez. The Priest took it wearily and shook it.  
  
"Samuel Renier." He said.  
  
"Alessandro Sanchez. I'm the parish priest of this village."  
  
"It is a pleasure," said Renier, laughing heartily. "These people told us you actually went out to fight that devil."  
  
"We did," replied Faith. She eyed the man with open suspicion as he stared at her bloodied face and hair.  
  
"Good Lord," he said eventually. "You must have barely escaped with your lives!"  
  
"Actually we killed it," said Sanchez suddenly, forcing Renier to turn to look at him and not at Faith.  
  
"You.you killed it?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"But.but the Bishop sent us to kill that thing," stammered Renier. "How on earth could the four of you handle that thing?"  
  
"Actually," replied Sanchez, putting a hand on Faith's shoulder. "She did."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Faith fought it almost entirely by herself," said the priest. "It was incredible. I never in all my life seen such a ferocious fighter as she."  
  
Renier turned to look at Faith again. His eyes were chocolate brown. Faith thought she could see a hint of.what?  
  
Was that respect or fear in his eyes?  
  
"My dear," said the old man, smiling. "Perhaps the two of us should talk somewhere private."  
End Flashback: Demona's van again  
  
"And that's how it happened," said Faith. "Renier was an Inquisitor like I am now. He took me on as his initiate and trained me for about six years before I became a fully independent agent myself."  
  
"Whoa," said Fang as he scratched the back of his head. "So.what exactly was that thing you killed?"  
  
"A vampire," said Faith, pulling a packet of cigarettes out and offering one to the mutate. Fang took one and lit both of theirs' with an electrical spark from his fingers. "It had completely succumbed to its animalistic side and had gone feral."  
  
"Maybe we should smoke these upstairs," suggested Fang, motioning to Malibu, who was still sleeping on the couch. "Or in the front with Jezzy."  
  
"Maybe we should wake him?" suggested Faith. "We'll be at that place Demona owns in southern Germany in about an hour anyway.  
  
"Nah. He's been using that spell Macbeth gave him to turn human before the sun rises on a daily basis for about a month now. He just doesn't get enough sleep anymore," replied Fang. He motioned to the front cabin where Jezebel was driving. "Let's let the kid get some rest." Faith nodded and both rose and silently moved to the front of the heavily armoured truck.  
  
Faith paused to look at the clone. He looked very troubled. "It really got to him."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you think he'll be okay?"  
  
"Give him time.he'll get used to that sort of stuff," replied Fang sadly. "They always do."  
  
They left silently, entering the front cabin, leaving Malibu stirring restlessly on the couch. His dreams filled with visions of the necropolis they had left behind.  
  
*****  
  
Lexington sat uncomfortably in the seat on the top floor of the truck, making a strong effort not to look on the opposite side of the narrow room.  
  
He would see IT then.  
  
He felt a large hand lay on his shoulder and give an encouraging squeeze. He smiled as he looked up at Broadway. The fat aquamarine gargoyle smiled at him reassuringly.  
  
"Relax bro. Demona knows what she's doing."  
  
Lexington just nodded and looked up at the front of the room.  
  
Demona and Goliath were arguing very loudly.  
  
"Then how come he doesn't think so?" asked Lexington.  
  
"Demona! This is insanity!" boomed Goliath; pointing in the direction Lexington was deliberately not looking. "We cannot risk this!"  
  
"Then what do you suggest?" Demona roared back. "We have no idea where he is going. We have no idea where any of the other weapons are! I have tried tracking him every possible way I could and someone or something is blocking my efforts! This is the only way!"  
  
"We cannot become what we fight!" replied the lavender giant. "It's too dangerous!"  
  
Demona picked up the staff Brooklyn had discarded after the massacre at Sudeny. "I agree that it is dangerous. But with this staff I should be able to perform the ceremony correctly."  
  
"It's been centuries since you even saw that damned book! How are you going to do it?"  
  
Demona seemed to bite her lip as Goliath stared at her.  
  
"What?" he asked. "What is it?"  
  
"Understand Goliath. Brooklyn may have made notes when he was translating the Malus Codicium in the study Jezebel said was attached to his bedroom," said Demona nervously. "Jezebel gave me all the security codes. It should be quite safe for her."  
  
"Her?" asked Goliath, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. "You mean Elisa?"  
  
"Yes. I called her about ten minutes after we left that God-awful town. I faxed her all the security codes and everything to make sure she and the mutates can get in without any danger," replied Demona.  
  
"If she is hurt in the slightest way Demona."  
  
"I know. But she won't be. It's perfectly safe," said Demona, her face softening a little. "All they have to do is go to his study and get any notes he may have made and bring them to my estate in Germany. There will be no danger to any of them."  
  
Goliath nodded, resigned, he looked at the large black bag near where Lexington and Broadway were sitting. Bronx lay curled up at their feet.  
  
"I don't think we've ever sunk this low before," he said.  
  
"You get used to it."  
A small hotel in Waldenburg, Poland  
  
"May I say this is a bad idea?" said Rincewald.  
  
"Go ahead," said Brooklyn as he sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, wings caped over his leather coat. The "Black Sun" lay across his lap. "Say it as many times as you want."  
  
"Oh relax Jerry," said Riana as she laid herself out on the bed and stretched. "This should be interesting."  
  
"My name is Jeremiah," hissed the necromancer menacingly. Fuzzy popped its head out of a pocket in his grey suit and squeaked. He looked at Brooklyn again. "You aren't strong enough just yet! You've only had the Black Sun for a few hours! How do you expect to be able to wield its power?"  
  
"Because I am the Anointed," replied Brooklyn flatly. "Besides, when he sees the truth then he shall have no real option but to aid me."  
  
"How do you know he's asleep?" asked Rincewald.  
  
"I just know. It's one of those things people who are talented in magic can do," replied the gargoyle.  
  
Rincewald went very red in the face but restrained himself from saying anything. Instead he just stormed out the door, muttering to himself.  
  
"You better go too," said Brooklyn.  
  
Riana nodded and stood up. "I'll calm him down," she said, heading to the door. "The stiff-shagger's our only ride."  
  
Brooklyn suppressed a chuckle before picking the staff up in his hands. It weighed almost nothing.  
  
"And what's your opinion?"  
  
The staff shuddered in his hands as the daemon Thzul'gzhu'vsra'kotllz awoke.  
  
~Master?~  
  
"Do you think I'm being foolish trying this?" asked Brooklyn.  
  
~No Master,~ replied the daemon. Brooklyn was amazed at how passive it had become since he had learned its true name. ~He would be a useful ally if you can convince him to help us.~  
  
"I'm positive I can," replied the blood red gargoyle excitedly. "I'll show him the truth! Make him see what I've seen! Then he'll understand."  
  
~Let us begin then.~  
  
Brooklyn nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating the daemonic powers that flowed from the staff and the Malus Codicium that lay in the breast pocket of his coat. A pale blue aura began to surround his form as the "Lack of Conscience" around his neck began to glow as well, adding an amber touch to the light.  
  
Brooklyn felt his senses expand to a prodigious level. His mind reached out, searching for the one he was looking for. It didn't take him long to find his friend. The one who had tried so hard to make him feel better.  
  
"Malibu," he whispered to the air. "When I show you the truth you will understand."  
  
Demona's Van  
  
Malibu began to breathe a lot harder as he lay asleep on the couch, Faith's coat providing him no warmth. He began to stir uneasily as he felt something dark coming close to him. A presence of sorts.  
  
It came closer and closer until he could feel that it was barely inches from him. He felt terribly cold, so much so that he began shivering. There was a strange scent in the air, like some sort of exotic spice that he couldn't name, strong, and sharp as a blade.  
  
His skin crawled from the touch of this presence. It felt familiar somehow.  
  
The presence moved in closer till it felt like it was standing beside were his head lay on the pillow. Malibu began to hyperventilate as the presence lunged for him, he tried to scream but it cut him off, holding him down as he felt it reach out for his forehead. He struggled madly but it wouldn't let go, it was if he had been strapped to the couch.  
  
His breathing and heart rate accelerated he felt it get closer. He struggled harder, but it simply held him tighter.  
  
It touched his forehead. The bonds apparently holding him down vanished and he screamed as he felt the presence enter him.  
  
Everything went black.  
  
*****  
  
He felt his strength slowly return to him as his eyes fluttered open and he sat up, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. He felt a little disorientated as he looked around for Fang or Jezebel.  
  
His jaw dropped in shock as he took in his surroundings.  
  
"What the Hell is going on?"  
  
He was in a graveyard! A very big graveyard at that.  
  
He rose to his feet quickly and almost lost his balance and fell. He grabbed on to the top of one of the tombstones and leaned on it for support as he waited for his head to stop spinning.  
  
"Feeling a little dizzy?" asked a voice from behind him.  
  
Malibu spun around to face whoever was speaking, his eyes widening in shock as he did so.  
  
"Brooklyn?"  
  
"Well done," said Brooklyn, grinning. He was standing a few meters away from his clone, wings at the ready as a light wind flapped the edges of his long black leather coat. He took several steps towards Mal. "Good to see you haven't forgotten about-"  
  
Brooklyn was cut off suddenly as Mal leapt at him; giving him a hard right cross to his face. The red gargoyle staggered and fell backwards as Mal leapt on top of him, taking hold of his wrists and pinning him to the ground.  
  
"HOW COULD YOU?" screamed the clone. "HOW COULD YOU? ALL THOSE PEOPLE!"  
  
Brooklyn put his feet against the clone's chest and kicked him off. Mal landed hard, on his back a few feet away from where Brooklyn lay. He was on his feet an instant later but so was Brooklyn.  
  
Mal's body tensed, ready for any attack but none was forth coming. Brooklyn just stood there staring balefully at him.  
  
"I didn't have anything to do with that," he said coldly. "I was busy elsewhere."  
  
"Yeah right."  
  
"I'm serious!" yelled Brooklyn. "Besides.I am not here to talk about a town full of vermin."  
  
"VERMIN?" Screamed the clone in utter disbelief. "They were human beings!"  
  
"Human? Vermin? What's the difference?" said Brooklyn in total disgust. "They have no right to be here Mal." He grinned evilly. "And I can prove it to you. If you're willing to listen."  
  
Malibu crossed his arms and eyed Brooklyn suspiciously. "Why should I believe anything you tell me? That book's screwing your head up."  
  
"Ah.but it isn't the book that tells me this."  
  
"Uh-ha.and what does eh?"  
  
Brooklyn smiled as he reached into the open collar of his black shirt and pulled out a large oval shaped gemstone hanging from a silver chain.  
  
"This does."  
  
The clone's eyes widened as he looked at it. He suddenly felt the desperate need to touch it but he shook it off. "That's.that's one of those things that Satan had right?"  
  
"Lucifer," said Brooklyn, stuffing the gem back in his shirt while sounding quite irritated. "Try and show some respect."  
  
Malibu frowned. "And that thing tells you stuff as well?"  
  
"It doesn't just tell me things Mal. It shows me."  
  
"O-kay. Like what?"  
  
"The truth of course!" yelled Brooklyn, as if the idea that it could tell him anything else was just stupid. "It's incredible! The truth about our race and the humans!" His smile became more pleasant. "And I want to show you it. I want you to understand why I'm doing this."  
  
"What? Why you're murdering people by the hundred!" screamed Malibu. "Nothing is worth killing Brooklyn! It doesn't do anybody any good!"  
  
"Really? If you believe that then why'd you help me and Macbeth kill Demona?"  
  
The clone's head drooped, he sighed. "I did it for revenge."  
  
"Ha! See?" laughed Brooklyn. "Don't you dare start judging me when you played an active part!"  
  
"But you had your revenge," pleaded Malibu. "And look where it got you! Banished! And now your letting some damn book and a cheap piece of jewellery run your life!"  
  
"Your wrong! They show me the truth!"  
  
"What truth could possibly be worth all those lives?"  
  
Brooklyn stared at him, his hazel eyes narrowing as the clone met his gaze head on, and flinched.  
  
For the briefest of moments, he didn't know who he was looking at.  
  
Brooklyn sighed suddenly and stepped forward, offering his friend his hand. "Let me show you. Then you can judge me."  
  
Mal looked at the hand suspiciously, and then back into the blood red gargoyle's eyes.  
  
That.whatever it was wasn't there anymore.  
  
He hesitated, before he offered his own hand. "Okay.show me."  
  
Brooklyn smiled and took it.  
  
Malibu suddenly got the feeling that the world around him was moving faster than he could comprehend. The graveyard vanished as the world became a myriad of rapidly moving images and colours.  
  
Mal stared wide eyed at the ever changing images, moving so fast that all he saw was a blur, making him feel slightly dizzy as they passed by.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" he asked as he turned his gaze back to Brooklyn.  
  
The red gargoyle smiled confidently. "I am taking you to see the truth.as promised." His smiled deepened. "I suggest you approach this with a very open mind."  
  
"I thought you knew me? I always have an open mind."  
  
"That's what everybody likes to think," said Brooklyn bitterly. "Until someone different comes along who wants to learn from them, and is willing to do anything they ask of them to learn something."  
  
He stopped when he noticed the look Malibu was giving him.  
  
"Brooklyn.what are you talking about?"  
  
"Nothing.way before your time."  
  
He smiled as the myriad slowed and eventually stopped. "We're here."  
  
Malibu looked at their surroundings. "It's a field."  
  
Brooklyn grinned. "A very big field."  
  
Mal looked around further. Grass and hills as far as the eye could see while a few white, fluffy clouds drifted lazily along in a cobalt blue sky as the sun beamed in an almost happy manner.  
  
He turned his attention back to Brooklyn. "Um.is there a metaphor or something else here that might be just a little above my head?" he asked. "It's just.while picturesque.I just can't see any reasons anywhere that could justify killing anyone."  
  
"Patience," said Brooklyn, putting his left wrist up to his face and checking a gold watch with a black leather strap.  
  
Mal looked down at the ground and sighed sullenly.  
  
He'd given him that watch after he'd started being late for dinner when he was translating the Codicium. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.  
  
"It should start in about.ten seconds," stated Brooklyn.  
  
"What?"  
  
Brooklyn smiled knowingly at him. "You'll see."  
  
Mal gave him a look when he suddenly noticed something on the light breeze. It sounded like thunder at a good distance away. He focused his keen ears on the sound.  
  
It was getting closer.  
  
"What is that?" he asked after several moments. "It sounds a little like thunder but there's no breaks."  
  
"It's called rolling thunder," replied Brooklyn as walked up beside the clone. "It a nickname for the sound of large bodies of horses when moving at great speed." Malibu turned his head to look at Brooklyn who smiled at him. "Before all this I kinda heard it once. It was about 989 A.D." He shrugged. "It was only about fifty or sixty horses but I always thought it sounded really cool. I could hear them heading towards Wyvern a good distance away."  
  
Mal nodded and looked out to where he believed the sound was coming from. "And how many is out there?"  
  
Brooklyn seemed to bite his lip as he considered this. "I.I don't know. Hell.only God probably knows how many."  
  
"God?"  
  
"Yep," replied Brooklyn, stretching his hands out in a dramatic gesture. "These, my good friend.are the plains."  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Something very important happened here ages and ages ago."  
  
"Let me guess. A battle."  
  
Brooklyn stared at him. "How'd you know?"  
  
"Hate propaganda usually has some sort of killing or betrayal in it," replied the clone coldly. "Look at the Quarrymen."  
  
"We are nothing like the Quarrymen," said Brooklyn very slowly, a faint glow in his eyes. "We have perfectly good reasons to hate humanity."  
  
"Do we?" asked Mal as he folded his arms in front of him. "What reasons are those then Brooklyn?"  
  
"It's still a minute or two till the fighting starts so I guess I might as well tell you," said the crimson gargoyle. "Before God created humanity. He created the hosts of angels, got that?"  
  
"Yes. Go on."  
  
"Now. That wasn't the only thing He created when He started building everything," said Brooklyn, smiling slightly. "He also created a heap of other races at the same time as humanity."  
  
"I understand. So what?"  
  
Brooklyn's eyes narrowed at him for a brief moment before continuing. "The Lord decided all the races except for a few would be scattered out across the universe. The remainder would be placed on earth.where man was to be the dominant race. Even the Angels would have to serve them."  
  
"You're talking about Satan aren't you?"  
  
Brooklyn smiled. "Exactly."  
  
A moment of silence passed as Malibu stared at the ground and Brooklyn stared at him, waiting for a reaction. When none seemed forthcoming he continued.  
  
"Some of the Angels, about a third, rallied around Lucifer and revolted against having to serve man."  
  
"What has this got to do with us?" asked Mal, although admittedly, he wasn't very sure he wanted an answer.  
  
"He only had a third of the Angels on his side Mal," stated the crimson gargoyle. "He needed allies if he was to have any hope of victory."  
  
"Oh my God we didn't."  
  
"Oh but we did," said Brooklyn, grinning horribly at the look on the clone's face. To put it mildly he looked awful. "Humanity has its original sin and so do we."  
  
He frowned before continuing. "We weren't the only ones of course. Quite a few races weren't particularly pleased at having to serve humanity. But our race and the Daemons were the two that were completely behind him. There were simply bits and pieces of the others. Why else would humans have so deep a fear of us?"  
  
"Why would we go against God?"  
  
"I thought I just explained," said Brooklyn. "Humanity is weak while we stood above them on every level. How the Hell would you feel to know you're being replaced by an inferior model?"  
  
"But still."  
  
"STILL WHAT?" roared Brooklyn, his patience suddenly gone. "THEY ARE INFERIOR!" He began to throw his arms around wildly as he continued his ranting. "HE HELD THEM ABOVE US! HE SAW THEM AS HIS GREATEST ENDEAVOR WHILE WE WERE SIDELINED!"  
  
"There's no need to scream ya know?" said Mal. "So what if He did eh? It's in the past! Who knows how long ago? I can't believe you're killing people over a million year old grudge!"  
  
"I HAVEN'T KILLED ANYONE!"  
  
"NO, BUT BECAUSE OF YOU ALL THOSE PEOPLE ARE DEAD!"  
  
"WHO CARES? THEY'RE HUMANS!"  
  
Both gargoyles stood shaking with rage while they glared at each other.  
  
"What about Jezebel?" asked Mal suddenly.  
  
Brooklyn's eyes widened. "Jezebel?"  
  
"Yeah, Jezebel. You know? The one who took care of both of us when we were injured?"  
  
"Uh."  
  
"And what about Fang huh? He was human. And now that he's got that spell he can change back whenever he wants so I guess he still is human."  
  
"Well.he.uh."  
  
"And Elisa? And Matt? What about them Brooklyn?"  
  
"They.they abandoned me!"  
  
"They do care though."  
  
"Bullshit!" yelled Brooklyn as he took several steps back. The certainty in his voice had vanished now and he looked very confused. "I.I.they don't care! They never did!"  
  
Malibu shook his head in pity. "You're clutching at straws now Brook."  
  
"No I'm not! What about Castaway huh? And the Hunters? And Dracon?"  
  
"Castaway is the Hunter! You told me so yourself!"  
  
"He wasn't the only one though!"  
  
"So? He's losing support! More and more people are seeing him and his Quarrymen for what they truly are. It's the same with us, it's just we're gaining support!"  
  
"I.they're vermin!" yelled Brooklyn desperately. This definitely not going the way he had planned. "We have to destroy them! We can't trust them!"  
  
"Brooklyn. Give it up. You sound like a broken record," said Malibu. "It doesn't matter what you show me. You know I'm right."  
  
The clone couldn't help but notice that the sounds of distant cavalry had stopped, and that the entire world seemed to be growing darker.  
  
"But.He.He."  
  
"He what Brooklyn? What the Hell happened that's worth so many damn lives?"  
  
Brooklyn stood before Malibu. Looking desperately around as if someone or something would come and give him assistance. "He.He banished the Daemons and the Fallen to Hell and forced us to become humanity's protectors. He drilled that damned feeling that we need to protect stuff into our heads after we had to surrender." He looked desperately confused now.  
  
Malibu gave him a look of total pity before he took several steps towards his friend. The crimson gargoyle gave him a startled look when the clone gently placed his hands on his shoulders.  
  
"Brooklyn," said Mal gently. "Come home. Please?"  
  
Brooklyn opened his mouth to try and say something but nothing came out. His lip seemed to be quivering while his hazel eyes betrayed just how lost he seemed to be feeling.  
  
"But.the Conscience.the Codicium.they told me." he trailed off.  
  
Malibu squeezed his shoulders a little harder, "They're destroying you Brooklyn. You've gotta get rid of them."  
  
Malibu noticed the faint amber glow from under Brooklyn's black shirt, about where the "Conscience" was, before Brooklyn's hazel eyes erupted into a pair of pale blue balls of hate.  
  
Mal's eyes widened in shock. "What in God's name?"  
  
Brooklyn suddenly threw his left arm around the clone's waist, pulling him forward while thrusting his right hand, open palmed, forwards as well. His talons stabbed deep into the base of Malibu's belly. The clone screamed in agony and tried to push Brooklyn off. Brooklyn simply smiled, dragging his claws slowly upwards, slicing three very deep vertical gashes into the struggling clone's gut.  
  
Mal tried to scream again, but half choked when a small river of his own blood rushed up his throat.  
  
Brooklyn pulled his bloody claw out of his friend's heavily damaged and bleeding belly while at the same time letting him go with his other arm. As Mal staggered back Brooklyn swiped his clawed left hand across the clone's face, cutting three huge slices into his right cheek, taking part of his pale green skin off and slicing his lower gum, dislodging several teeth in the process.  
  
Mal actually spun in the air for a brief moment from the force behind the attack before collapsing on his knees, his back now turned to the crimson gargoyle.  
  
Brooklyn lifted his stained hands to his face and looked the blood dripping from his talons, a sadistic grin forming across his lips.  
  
"No."  
  
*****  
  
Back in the van on the couch Mal's body went stiff as three deep cuts formed along his right cheek and began bleeding profusely. Exactly like the three larger ones that had bored into his belly underneath his armoured body glove.  
  
The smell of exotic spices intensified as the clone moaned in agony.  
  
*****  
  
Brooklyn walked calmly up to the side of his clone as he stayed on his knees, his arms wrapped protectively around his bleeding waist while he coughed up blood.  
  
He grinned evilly before he kicked Malibu in the face, breaking his nose and shooting the clone's head back. Mal feel on to his back, one arm staying wrapped around his waist while the other tried to cover damaged face from any further attack.  
  
"I think I'm starting to understand why you got bullied down in the Labyrinth," said Brooklyn in a very matter-of-fact tone. Mal groaned as Brooklyn began to slowly circle him. "I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that you're weak."  
  
"I'm not the one who's weak," whispered Mal, his voice laced with agony. Brooklyn stopped circling as the clone continued. "I.I'm not the one that's letting a fucking piece of jewellery tell me what to do."  
  
Brooklyn smiled. "Now who sounds like a broken record?" His smile vanished as his face suddenly hardened. "You really should kept your trap shut Mal. Now I'm just gonna have to hurt you a lot."  
  
He started kicking Malibu as he lay on the ground savagely, the clone yelping and covering his face with his arms as Brooklyn laid in to him.  
  
He stopped suddenly and grinned. "You know what Mal? Not only are you a weakling. You're also a fucking little kid."  
  
"Shut up," groaned the clone as he tried to rise. Brooklyn leapt on him suddenly, grabbing his wrists and holding them down above his head while sitting on his chest, shifting so as to put as much weight on it as possible. Mal started coughing as Brooklyn pressed down on his lungs, his weight making it increasingly harder to breathe.  
  
Brooklyn smiled cruelly. "Yeah.a little fucking kid. A hatchling. A little baby."  
  
"Since when did you go in for bullying?" coughed Mal.  
  
"Since it became obvious just a few seconds ago that you wouldn't stand up to me," replied Brooklyn snidely. "You're a pitiful excuse for a Gargoyle. It's sickening to think you came from my blood."  
  
"You're nothing but a bully."  
  
"Oh shut your trap. I'm ranting," said Brooklyn in disgust. He leaned in closer till his face was inches from Malibu's. "So tell me. Why didn't you fight back when the others started beating up on you?"  
  
"It's none of your business!" yelled Malibu as he started struggling to force Brooklyn off him.  
  
"But it is," said Brooklyn. "We're family. Remember? It's important that I know just how badly you show me up." Mal tried to force him off, but Brooklyn held him down in a rock hard grip.  
  
"That won't work kid," said Brooklyn, grinning cruelly. "In the physical world you're a lot stronger than me. But not here." His eyes narrowed menacingly. "This is my little world you little fucking brat. Here I'm God."  
  
Malibu felt a sudden shift in the ground and air and looked around from where Brooklyn had him pinned.  
  
They were back in the graveyard again.  
  
He turned his head up to Brooklyn's. The crimson gargoyle was still smiling at him.  
  
"Why are we back here?" asked the clone.  
  
"Since you seemed to care so much about all those dead people," said Brooklyn. "I was thinking that it might be an interesting experience for you to see them all again."  
  
Before Malibu could ask what Brooklyn meant by that he felt the ground underneath him move. He slowly turned his head just as a decaying hand burst through the ground near his arm and grabbed hold of his wrist. It was a sickening yellow colour and it felt disgustingly cold against his skin.  
  
He screamed as another hand burst from the ground on the other side of his arm and grabbed hold of his wrist as Brooklyn let go. He felt more hands rise up from the ground near his legs and shuddered when he felt cold, decaying hands grab hold of his ankles and tail. He tried desperately to kick them away but they tightened their grip on his legs, dragging them back to ground level and holding on to him so tight it hurt. When Brooklyn was sure he couldn't move any limb, he sat up on the clone's stomach and smiled triumphantly.  
  
"You pathetic little shit," he said. He frowned when it became obvious that Malibu wasn't listening anymore.  
  
He was moving each limb in turn, trying to find a weakness he could exploit.  
  
He yelped in pain when Brooklyn slapped him very hard across the face. "Are you listening to me?"  
  
"Fuck off!" yelled Mal suddenly. "I don't know just who the fuck you think you are but you are definitely not Brooklyn!"  
  
"You're a little off there my friend," said Brooklyn. "I am Brooklyn. All that's changed is that I'm a lot stronger and smarter now." He pulled the "Conscience" out from under his shirt and let it dangle over the clone's head. "And with this and the Codicium with me. I no longer get pestered by that stupid little voice the weak such as your self listen to called a conscience."  
  
"I don't care what the fuck you say!" yelled Malibu. "You're not Brooklyn! You're just some fucking psycho!"  
  
"You've got quite a mouth on you," said Brooklyn, the pale blue glow in his eyes intensifying. "Does swearing make you feel you're not quite as pathetic and weak as you really are?"  
  
"Fuck you!"  
  
Brooklyn suddenly shot his hands behind his back, delving into his leather greatcoat. A second later he produced a pair of matching duelling daggers. Malibu started struggling all the harder as Brooklyn laid one on the ground and, holding the other dagger in both hands, point down, began to press it against the clone's right shoulder.  
  
"Now," said Brooklyn, pressing the blade a little harder. "We're going to play a little round of Q&A. You're gonna tell me what I want to know. Or I'm just gonna have to torture you to death."  
  
Mal winced in pain as the blade slowly penetrated his thinly armoured shoulder and broke the skin. He gritted his teeth as the blade began to bore into his flesh and muscles before stopping against the bone. A moan escaped from his gritted teeth as Brooklyn began twisting the blade.  
  
"Understand?"  
  
"Why don't you just ask that fucking daemon you summoned for answers?" asked Mal, his voice laced with pain.  
  
"I take it you mean Iioe." Said Brooklyn. "He betrayed me. So I sent him back to Hell for Lucifer to deal with." He grinned. "Besides. Torturing info outta you should be a lot more fun."  
  
"I won't tell you anything."  
  
"Ha! We'll see."  
Dresden, Germany  
  
The city square of one of Germany's oldest cities was unusually noisy, despite the fact it was nearly one in the morning.  
  
The reason for this was that a soccer match had ended between Germany and England in the nearby stadium. It was supposed to have been a friendly match but the England fans were determined to live up to their reputation as some of the most destructive, drunken and violent football hooligans on the planet.  
  
The city square had become the grounds for a three-way battle between the hordes of invading and drunk England fans, the equally drunk and more numerous German fans and the very irritated Dresden police force, which had driven a wedge between the opposing masses and was being fairly even-handed with the water cannons while heavily armoured police in riot gear, both from Dresden and the surrounding towns tried to force both sides to separate by charging into them with their batons and riots shields while at the same time being pelted by stolen furniture, petrol bombs, obscenities, and basically anything else the rioters could get their hands on.  
  
A particularly drunk and shirtless man climbed upon a monument in the square that celebrated the reunification of East and West Germany after the collapse of the old Soviet Union amid all the chaos. He climbed half way before he started dancing wildly, shaking his hips two and fro while singing a particularly bad rendition of "Rule Britannia".  
  
The red cross of St. George on the white painted background of his enormous beer belly proved just too tempting a target for the police.  
  
Two water cannons on different riot control vehicles targeted him at almost the exact same time and opened up on him, secretly aiming for the centre of the cross.  
  
The twin beams of heavily pressurised water hit him quite hard, one on the chest, the other missing the centre of the red cross by barely an inch, instead nearly hitting his navel, lifting the very drunk rioter clean off the monument, landing on a crowd of nearby England fans, sending many of them sprawling and actually knocking several unconscious, much to the joy of a group of nearby German fans. The police, with media cameras from several European networks, as well as two from the USA, and not wanting to be called discriminate, fired the water cannons at them next, sending several actually through the front window of a chemist.  
  
Amid all the drunken chaos, Furcifer smiled.  
  
He loved football.  
  
Well.it wasn't actually the sport he loved. Even something as eternal as him didn't really see the point of kicking a ball up and down a field for an hour and a half and actually getting paid criminal amounts of money while they were at it.  
  
It was the fans he really liked.  
  
Especially the ones that went to church on Sundays, said prayers, sang hymns.  
  
.and then threw themselves on their knees in praise of the almighty David Beckham and his pop star wife the second they got home.  
  
"Humans," he whispered to himself, smiling wistfully as he strode among the crazed tumult. His hands in the pockets of his black leather pants, his long black cotton greatcoat flapping behind him as if it were a cape despite the strange the fact that there was no wind.  
  
His face had healed already from Edmund Burke's splash of holy water, as had his hand, but he had been told to take it easy and relax for a few days before he got back to watching the Anointed's progress.  
  
Which was why he was here. He loved riots. Reminded him of his place back in Pandemonium, the palace of the Dark Prince.  
  
He stopped and frowned.  
  
Leviathan better not be touching his stuff again. The last time he'd done that there'd been that weird ooze of his all over his Mozart CDs.  
  
But no. He couldn't think of irritating stuff like that here. He was here to relax.  
  
"Happy thoughts Furcy old boy. Remember?" He said to himself as he passed a drunken German football fan lying in a pool of his own vomit. He stopped and picked up the man's baseball bat, which was remarkably unscathed. He took a few experimental swings as an England fan was sent crashing into a set of tables by a water cannon outside a coffee house whom's owner's sanity for remaining open on the night of a football match had to be put under serious scrutiny.  
  
He didn't carry weapons. For no other reason than he never needed them.  
  
But there was something about the atmosphere in places like this that just seemed to demand that he have some form of blunt instrument in his hands. A baseball bat was good.although if given a choice he'd be using a flamethrower.  
  
But there were rules.  
  
He could kill people of course. There was always the danger though that if he killed too many at once, and then the boys upstairs may get involved.  
  
Now that he thought back on it. He was lucky he hadn't gotten into any trouble over Sudeny. He knew he couldn't afford to take many more risks like that.  
  
But hopefully there wouldn't be any need to do anything like that again.  
  
The Inquisitors were dead. There wouldn't be any more of them. They'd be too damn busy trying to cover the mess they'd made and trying to blame it on somebody else.  
  
He was already hearing news reports suggesting it was some sort of mass cult activity, or perhaps some sort of terrorist attack that wiped out the town's population.  
  
"You'd think they'd try something a little more original for once," said Furcifer to no body in particular.  
  
He smacked a policeman on his helmet, knocking him out before dragging another drunken fan, who was also unconscious but looked pretty much like he was going to vomit as well, on top of the officer, laughing hysterically when said fan did vomit in his sleep, all over the officer's head.  
  
He vanished back into the crowd, basking in the way humanity disgraced itself in such spectacular ways and on such regularity.  
  
As he was he was kicking an England fan in the crotch, taking care not to kill him, as he may be one of the ones who started the riot. He felt a presence.  
  
He dropped the bat and started turning around in a circle, the rather enjoyable sounds of men fighting, drinking, vomiting and swearing all lost to him as he scanned the chaotic crowds for whoever was watching him.  
  
He smiled when he recognised it at last.  
  
He walked into a back alley as extra police from more towns arrived as reinforcements to try and quell the fighting.  
  
When he was sure he was quite alone he waited near a steel door that led to a strip club.  
  
After a few minutes one of the shadows in the alley darkened to an unnatural degree near Furcifer.  
  
"Well?" he said.  
  
The shadow told him.  
  
Furcifer frowned deeply before replying. "Who?"  
  
It told him.  
  
"That little bitch. Where?"  
  
There was no sound in the alley, other than the very loud music coming from the other side of the steel door and the sound of Furcifer's own voice.  
  
"I see.that could be a problem no doubt," he said. "Hmm.send Crow. Tell him to stop her by any means necessary."  
  
The shadow lingered.  
  
"What?"  
  
Another moment.  
  
"Yes.there is a risk they may become involved but I'm starting to doubt that they will.I'm still a little amazed they didn't in Sudeny." Furcifer thought for a moment. "Tell Crow to be quiet about it if it's reasonable practical for him. Understand?"  
  
The shadow still didn't move.  
  
"What is it?" asked Furcifer, getting slightly impatient.  
  
It told him quickly then vanished.  
  
Furcifer lent against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he absorbed the last bit of information.  
  
"Bastard."  
  
Leviathan was messing with his CDs again.  
  
He swore a few more times before he pulled open the steel door and went into the club to calm himself and sample some of the delicate beauties inside.  
The Macbeth Estate, USA  
  
Elisa Maza, detective 2nd class, manoeuvred her cherry red Ford Fairlane up the gravel driveway to the intimidating castle at the end of the road.  
  
She had entered the estate, but still wasn't too sure what exactly she was looking for.  
  
Which was why Mr. Burnett was sitting next to her.  
  
Xanatos' major-domo sat rigidly in his seat, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was wearing a double-breasted black business suit with a white shirt underneath and a red tie.  
  
He hadn't said anything since she'd picked him up other than "Detective," in his usual monotone.  
  
She pulled up in front of the heavily reinforced oak doors with the brass lion head knockers.  
  
Both got out silently and walked up to the pair of doors.  
  
Elisa bent down and pulled away the welcome mat, revealing a key underneath. She picked it up in one hand while taking out the sheets of paper that Demona had faxed her.  
  
"Okay.this is the key to the back door," she said, squinting at the paper. "Demona really needs to improve her handwriting."  
  
Owen said nothing. His silence was really starting to irritate her.  
  
They waited for several moments as the sun slowly began to set, Elisa actually stopping to watch it dip under Manhattan's jagged skyline while hoping Goliath was okay before sighing sadly to herself.  
  
It had only been a few weeks since their parting yet she missed him terribly. He was helping to fight forces neither of them could really understand and it felt good to help him, even in a small way.  
  
But still.  
  
"Detective," said Owen, pointing to the sky southwards. "Your brother is here."  
  
Elisa looked where he was pointing and saw three shapes in the air getting closer as she watched them. Eventually she could make out Talon, Maggie and Claw when they were close enough.  
  
They waited by the front doors until the trio of mutates landed and Talon came up and hugged his big sister.  
  
"Hey Lis," he said as they parted. "Got the key?"  
  
Elisa nodded and showed the mutates the key she had taken from under the welcome mat before Owen led them round to the back of the castle to the rear entrance.  
  
All the while Crow watched, and waited.  
  
The traps the Anointed had left that the witch didn't know about may well do his work for him.  
  
*****  
  
The five moved through the old house quickly, the mutates and Elisa pausing occasionally to admire some of more spectacular works of art that lined the walls or some of the antique furniture while Owen led the way to Brooklyn's study on a map of the interior that was also faxed to them by Demona and Jezebel.  
  
While they ascended the stairs Elisa paused to look at the stained glass window that portrayed Macbeth and Demona facing each other off, briefly wondering if Macbeth had any idea that this sort of thing would have happened before following the others up to the second storey.  
  
They came upon the door to Brooklyn's room and Elisa couldn't help but shudder.  
  
How had this happened? Had he been slipping right in front of them and had none of them noticed? Why didn't he come forward and talk about it? What was he hoping to accomplish?  
  
-Revenge- said a little voice at the back of her head. -He's doing all this for revenge. It's all he seems to live for now.-  
  
She shook this line of thought off quickly.  
  
The Brooklyn she had once been friends with was gone, replaced by a madman bent on destroying everything and he had to be stopped one way or another.  
  
She was the last to walk into the room and therefore the last to notice just how drastically the temperature had dropped. She was so shocked she stopped in her tracks as she watched her breath condense in the air.  
  
There was an odd smell, like some sort of exotic spice that she couldn't name that seemed to cut through the cold and dominate the atmosphere.  
  
She looked around his room. The walls had a deep shade of red wallpaper on them. There were several drawers, one with a mirror on top that looked newer than the piece of furniture it sat on. A four-poster bed sat at the opposite wall with a large window beside it that gave a view of the Manhattan skyline as the city lights were turned on as darkness claimed the sky for itself. Talon switched the light on, noticing claw marks along some of the walls as he did so. There were three doors inside the room. Two to their left and another to their right.  
  
The two on their left, according to Owen from the map, led to a bathroom and the other to a walk in closet.  
  
The one on the right, led to the study. It had a chest of drawers beside it. Elisa and the mutates headed towards it, Claw moved his arm to take hold of the door handle when Owen suddenly yelled something and grabbed the tiger mutate pulled him roughly back and almost causing him to stumble and fall.  
  
"Don't touch that handle!" yelled Xanatos' major-domo as he manhandled Claw back.  
  
"What the Hell's the matter with you?" yelled Talon suddenly, grabbing Owen by the scruff of the neck and holding him in the air as if he weighed nothing.  
  
"The door's booby trapped," replied Owen, totally unphased by Talon's outrage. The mutate put him down and Owen walked over to the chest and picked up a pair of scissors lying on top. He then moved to the door handle and carefully examined the space between it and the chest, before making a single, careful snip while the others watched on. He held up the end of the wire attached to the door handle for them to see before he opened the top drawer to see what opening the door would have triggered.  
  
Even he raised his eyebrows at the two-pound slab of C4 explosives inside with a cherry picker grenade taped firmly to the inside of the drawer, the wire wrapped around the pin.  
  
"Holy shit," muttered Talon.  
  
"There may be more," said Owen. "I suggest you wait outside the room while I check it for more bombs."  
  
The others nodded and headed out, spending almost half an hour in awkward silence as Owen meticulously went through the room, searching for any more traps.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Owen came out and gave the all clear.  
  
"So did you find anymore?" asked Elisa.  
  
"Several," said Owen. "Including two on the other side of the door to his study made in a similar fashion to the first one. Except one had six-pounds of C4 and the other had a drawer full of iron nails with its grenade." He frowned. "Brooklyn's paranoia seems to have increased far more than Fang or Malibu could have predicted."  
  
He led them into the study. It was a fairly big room with a large working desk in front of a window that had several books lying upon it along with a large pile of notes. The two walls that didn't have a door or window were completely lined with row upon row of books, the majority of which looked to be old tomes but there were several rows of newer ones as well while the walls had a dark shade of green wallpaper on them.  
  
The air was thick with the smell of the spices.  
  
"What the Hell is that smell?" asked Talon as his sensitive nostrils became overwhelmed by the sharp, exotic tang. He actually covered his nose.  
  
"A backwash," explained Owen. "Some of the more powerful disciplines of magic can leave tell tale signs of their use. Pyromancy, for example, leaves a smell of o-zone in the air after a particularly powerful spell was cast."  
  
"And what kind is causing such a strong smell as this?" asked Maggie.  
  
"Daemonology." Said Owen immediately. "It is incredibly dangerous to use as it almost always involves contact with daemons of one form or another, through intention or accident. But it is also the most powerful discipline. The most powerful and skilled daemonologists can even take on Fey and expect success." He sniffed the air again. "I've never smelt it this strong before. It's so concentrated."  
  
He trailed off, glaring around the room before walking to the desk and ruffling through the papers lying there. "I'll go through the papers. You all look through those books on the walls. You'll know if you find something."  
  
"Wait," said Elisa. "If it's really so strong then why hasn't Oberon or anyone else noticed it?"  
  
"Detective Maza," said Owen patiently. "Daemonology is a very unique discipline. Unless you are a practitioner or are very close and know what you are looking for then it's doubtful you'll detect it." That said he turned his back on her to concentrate on the papers on the desk.  
  
The mutates shrugged to each other and began to go through the books systematically. After a moment Elisa joined them.  
  
They worked for about twenty minutes before Owen declared he found them.  
  
The notes were a rough collection of papers under several piles themselves. Some were on blank sheets while others were on A-4 pages. Many of them were crumpled while the writing on them was quite bad, the author's obvious haste in making them coming through.  
  
Elisa took some of the pages from Owen and examined them, dates were written on the top.  
  
"This was written weeks ago," said Elisa.  
  
"Those are the most recent papers and notes here," explained Owen, stuffing the rest into a file and holding them under his shoulder.  
  
"Demona told me that Codicium thing.talked to her when we were on the phone," said Elisa slowly. "She said that after several weeks of translating it when she had it.it actually started talking to her. It almost drove her mad when Macbeth found her and took it away from her."  
  
"Looks like it succeeded with Brooklyn," said Talon, a hint of sadness in his voice.  
  
"That's what most likely happened," said Owen, his voice remaining on its flat monotone. "When it started talking to him he simply stopped taking the notes. Let's just hope some of these are useful to Demona." He looked around at them all. "There is nothing else here. Let's go."  
  
They all agreed and followed him out.  
  
Owen led them to the front doors, picking up a key that lay on a nearby table. The others walked out while he locked up.  
  
Elisa was several yards from the door when she saw something sitting on top of her car.  
  
She raised her eyebrows in curiosity.  
  
It was a large bird, a very rare breed of crow, an albino. Its body was the colour of snow, while its eyes were a pair of blood red, pitiless orbs that seemed to bore into her.  
  
Talon was the first to notice the smell of spices.  
  
"Elisa? What's that bird doing on your car?" he asked as he started looking from side to side suspiciously.  
  
"I don't know," replied the detective, taking several steps towards the bird, which was now staring at her innocently. "But something definitely doesn't seem right about it."  
  
While she was saying this, Owen locked the front door and slipped the key back under it. He looked round and stared at the bird for only brief second before he reacted.  
  
Keeping the file of notes tightly under his arm, Owen rushed forward, pulling out a Berretta 9mm as he did so from under his coat, taking careful aim as he rushed past Maggie who simply gawked at him dumbly as he fired the first round.  
  
The bullet flew past Elisa's head, grazing her right ear as it tore its way towards the white crow. The bird leaned slightly to the left before taking off as the bullet struck and penetrated the to roof of Elisa's Ford.  
  
The next three rounds missed while Elisa grabbed the top of her ear, her teeth gritting and swearing silently to herself at the sharp sting from the first bullet.  
  
"It's a daemon!" yelled Owen. " All of you! Get in the car now!"  
  
The group complied as Owen emptied the clip at the bird, which dodged all the shots with unnatural grace.  
  
As he was taking backwards steps towards the car, slamming a new clip into the pistol as he did so, the white crow flew behind the castle. A brief moment later there was a strange sound in the air that caused the major- domo to pause as he was getting in the passenger seat. It sounded like the flapping of wings.  
  
Many, many wings.  
  
Owen stopped dead in his tracks, as the sound grew increasingly louder before they came from around the castle.  
  
"Oh my God."  
  
There must have been at least a thousand of them. All huge, fast and as black as Stalin's soul.  
  
Owen wasn't even properly seated when Elisa swore at the top of her voice and drove her foot into the accelerator so hard Talon was afraid she might actually put it through the floor.  
  
The engine of the car roared to life as the tires threw clouds of dirt and gravel into the air before getting a firmer grip on the road and hurtling it down the road and straight through the open gates.  
  
Elisa turned the car wildly left and right, desperately trying to dodge evening traffic as Owen slipped a silencer onto his Berretta before opening his window and sticking his arm out to fire at the pursuing horde of crows. Claw and Talon followed suit a moment later as they shifted awkwardly in the back seat, crushing Maggie in between them as they stuck their own arms out to send electrical blasts at their pursuers.  
  
The daemonic birds hit by Owen's pistol cawed before dropping while the ones hit by either Talon or Claw's electrical blasts exploded in a shower of feathers and charred flesh.  
  
But they were always replaced.  
  
"We'll never get them all!" yelled Talon as he detonated yet another crow mid-air.  
  
"We're also attracting a lot of attention to ourselves," yelled Owen, pulling himself back into his seat and pulling out the wasted clip in his pistol while motioning to the crowds of staring passers by along the roads. He dug his hand into his coat pocket and frowned when he produced only two more clips.  
  
Elisa pulled two clips from under her red bomber jacket and tossed them on Owen's lap. "I use the same gun. Don't waste any rounds."  
  
Owen nodded his thanks before sliding a fresh clip into his pistol and cocking it. He looked ahead of them.  
  
"Detective. Where are you going?"  
  
"Anywhere that doesn't have cars for me to crash into. Why?"  
  
"One of Demona's old safe houses is several blocks away. They are fairly well fortified and should keep us safe from these creatures. I suggest we go there."  
  
"Good idea!" yelled Talon from the back.  
  
"I don't wanna die!" sobbed Maggie, bending her head over and covering it with her hands.  
  
Claw rolled his eyes before sticking his arm back out and killing several more crows.  
  
"Where is it?" yelled Elisa, narrowly avoiding crashing into a Dodge "Viper" that came around a corner she didn't see.  
  
Owen pointed left. "Down that road. Then the second street on the right."  
  
Elisa nodded and complied, her car skidding along the tarmac road when she made the turn just a little too hard as Owen stuck his head out again and began firing at the crows chasing them, dropping several with his first volley. Talon and Claw again added their own fire to the crows as the car sped down the road, dodging in between cars.  
  
"They're catching!" yelled Talon as he destroyed another of the daemonic birds.  
  
Elisa looked at her side mirror and swore. They were getting closer. They'd be overtaken any second.  
  
"Damn," she muttered.  
  
She saw the first right up ahead and risked a quick glance down it. It was a downtrodden old street with dozens of homeless people sleeping in boxes, blankets and anything else they could.  
  
-Nearly there Maza, nearly there!-  
  
Her Ford Fairlane raced down the street. Elisa could see the second turnoff, her heart soaring, as they got closer to it by the second.  
  
-Nearly there. Nearly there. Stay cool Maza. Stay.oh shit!-  
  
A truck came around the corner, as she was twenty meters from the turnoff. She could make out the driver's stunned face as both he and she pulled on the brakes.  
  
Her cherry red Ford skidded left and right along the road before the front of the truck hit Owen's side. The car began spinning along the road from the impact as Maggie screamed while Talon grabbed hold of her and held her close. Claw dug his talons into the seat and door to brace himself while Owen actually swore while trying frantically pull his seat belt on.  
  
Elisa Maza's world suddenly slowed down. She could see Owen out of the corner of her eye and make out everything outside the front windscreen of her car in great detail. She could hear sounds, but they seemed so distant to her that she couldn't make out who or what may be making them. As the car spun along the road for the third time, she became dimly aware of the traffic lights they were heading towards. From the way they were spinning she calculated they'd be hit in the rear.  
  
As the car spun further she could see the way they had come from. She'd knocked over a newsagent's stand without even realising it. No one appeared hurt but she mentally chastised herself for doing it anyway.  
  
~No where to go now Detective Maza.~ Came a voice within her head, cold, pitiless, evil.  
  
~You are ours now.~  
  
Her car had barely finished its rear impact into the traffic lights before the first crow smashed through the side window.  
  
To be continued. 


	14. Desperate Measures, Part 2: Summoning

Desperate Measures, Part 2: Summoning  
Thought for the day: Knowledge is power. Conceal it well.  
  
A Cinema in St. Petersburg, Russia  
  
The cinema was fairly quite tonight, several of the newest blockbusters were screening while some of the smaller screening rooms were following the manager's idea to show old classic horror movies.  
  
In one of these particular smaller screening rooms an old "Hammer" horror film about vampires was being showcased.  
  
It is this room that interests us.  
  
There were fourteen people and a steward, watching Christopher Lee, dressed as Count Dracula, battle it out with Peter Cushing playing his archenemy, Abraham Van Helsing.  
  
It was at the dramatic climax of the film where Cushing and Lee were having their final showdown. Fighting wildly in the main hall, before Cushing jumped on the dining table, ran across it and leapt onto the curtains, tearing them down and pouring sunlight into the room.  
  
As Christopher Lee began screaming and disintegrating due to the sunlight, the room was filled with riotous laughter.  
  
The audience politely waited for several seconds for it to subside, but when it didn't the steward, a tall, plump boy in his teens with wiry brown hair walked up to the row where it came from.  
  
"Excuse me sir?"  
  
The man he was addressing looked up at him with ancient, cloud-grey eyes.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
The boy flinched from the man's stare before replying with weak force.  
  
"No talking or laughing during the show."  
  
"Really?" asked the man. "And.just who is it my young, little, plump friend.that is going to enforce this rule?"  
  
"I.I.I am," replied the boy nervously. The stare this gentleman was giving him was unnerving.  
  
It made him feel almost as if he was a piece of food or something being assessed by a chef.  
  
The gentleman smiled pleasantly, his eyes roving up and down the steward in an almost hungry manner. "Just you?"  
  
"Well.yes," said the boy, "it's sort of a slow night so most of the others got the night off."  
  
"This is your first time working here isn't it?" asked the man curiously.  
  
"Well.yes."  
  
"Well I guess I better not make any trouble for you then," said the man as he rose. "You best escort me to the door to make sure I don't sneak into any films on the way out."  
  
"Okay," said the boy steward, clearly relieved. "Follow me please."  
  
The man rose, towering over the young steward, who led him out into the hall and then out through the ornate double doors that served as the entrance.  
  
"Did you know, my young friend, that before the Revolutions this place was an Imperial owned grand hotel?"  
  
"Uhh.no, I didn't."  
  
"Those were the days," said the man, his voice taking on a hint of nostalgia as he followed the boy out. "The days of the Tsars." He grinned he looked around the deserted hall. "So, where is everyone?"  
  
"This is the last showing tonight," replied the boy.  
  
"So no one else is around in this part of the cinema?"  
  
"No.why?"  
  
The man didn't answer in the way the boy steward expected. Instead of a friendly verbal response he grabbed hold of the boy, wrapping one powerful arm around his waist, pinning in his arms to his side, while at the same time bringing out a cloth, moist with chloroform, from his heavy, fur-lined brown greatcoat and covered the boy's nose and mouth with it.  
  
The young steward started struggling, trying to yell for help but his assailant held him fast with inhuman strength, a hellish grin forming across his face as he lent his head forward to whisper into the boy's ear.  
  
"You know why I was laughing in there?"  
  
The boy continued to struggle weakly, his strength deserting him as the chloroform started taking effect.  
  
"I was laughing in there, because, my little friend, Hollywood really screws up what it takes to kill my kind." He grinned, licking a pair of canine teeth that grew in his elastic-like mouth as he continued. "We are, in fact, a lot harder to kill than with a bit of odd sunlight."  
  
He looked at the side of the boy's head, noting that he had stopped struggling and was now quite limp in his hands. He pocketed the cloth and hefted the heavy boy over his shoulder with ease, before walking to the rear of the near deserted cinema to a fire exit who's alarm he had disabled before going in for a show. When outside in the snow covered side exit, he walked over to a nearby van, painted matt green, opened the rear door and flung the unconscious boy inside before getting in himself.  
  
Once inside he produced a small two-sided knife from his coat and cut the boy's hand. He then held it up to his lips and licked some of the blood flowing from the wound, smacking his lips like a connoisseur would test fine wine.  
  
"Excellent."  
  
He then opened the boy's white shirt and red waistcoat, examining his plump, pale torso carefully with his hands before removing his trousers and looking at his lower regions.  
  
An evil smile formed across his lips.  
  
"It looks to me," he said slowly to the naked, unconscious boy lying prone before him. "That you shall be satisfying me in more than one way my little friend."  
  
That said, Gregor Zaitsev bound and gagged his latest victim, before getting in the front of his van to drive to where the second weapon of Lucifer was stored.  
A realm of thought and pain  
  
Screams echoed through the darkened halls as Malibu's entire body became enveloped in electricity. The burning, mind-numbing pain was all he knew for several minutes before it was cut off suddenly.  
  
He slumped back onto the table he had been strapped to, his breathing heavy and laboured.  
  
Brooklyn had grown weary of the graveyard he had been torturing him in, and so had moved location to some torture chamber, whether this was a real place or one Brooklyn dreamed up the clone wasn't sure.  
  
A crimson hand gently lifted his head up, going under his beak and running taloned fingers up and down it in an almost affectionate manner.  
  
"How ya holding up Mal?" asked Brooklyn in an almost cheery voice. "Ready to tell me what I want to know?"  
  
Mal open his eyes slowly, barely into slits.  
  
He was strapped to an operating table, with a fulcrum underneath that allowed the table to be swivelled into vertical or horizontal positions, his hands clamped to his sides. His right shoulder was bleeding profusely from the deep gashes Brooklyn had sliced into it while the ones across his belly and right cheek had slowed their bleeding slightly. Most of his body was covered in bruises from when Brooklyn had taken an iron rod and brass knuckles to him, which had also resulted in at least three cracked, if not broken ribs.  
  
Brooklyn had been complaining bitterly of how the clone's armoured body glove was absorbing just too much damage and had removed it with a snap of his fingers, along with the grey T-shirt he had been wearing underneath, leaving him with just a pair of grey cotton shorts.  
  
He had lost so much blood that he could barely move. He'd blacked out twice already from blood loss and damage but Brooklyn revived him shocks and smelling salts.  
  
"Are you ready to talk now?" Brooklyn repeated.  
  
"N.never," whispered the clone weakly.  
  
"Oh come on!" yelled Brooklyn. "If you don't answer my questions right this minute then I'm gonna make you wish you were never created in a test tube." He stalked over to a stand and pulled a curled up whip from a hanger on the steel burgundy wall before turning back to face his clone. "Let's go over his again shall we? How much does Demona know about our mutual situation?"  
  
Mal closed his eyes and braced himself for the pain to come.  
  
"HOW MUCH DOES SHE KNOW?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Brooklyn roared before took a firm grip of the whip's handle as he brought it up and snapped it down quickly. Mal groaned through his teeth when the end of the whip hit him in the face, above his left eye ridge, creating a stinging pain as a fresh cut opened there and began to bleed over his eye.  
  
"I have a source that tells me that Demona and the whole clan, minus the old twit and Broadway's hoar are now with you," stated Brooklyn as he glared at Mal in total disgust. "There is also a woman who seems to have a great like of firearms with black hair with you now. Who is she?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you," muttered Brooklyn. He left the room quickly, leaving the clone to his own thoughts.  
  
He returned a moment later with a heavy stainless steel bucket, carrying it with a wet cloth wrapped around his hand, grinning horribly. He set it down in front of Malibu so he could see inside.  
  
"Oh my God."  
  
The bucket was filled almost to the brim with burning hot coals. He could feel the blistering heat from where he was strapped. Some of them almost white hot.  
  
"Now," said Brooklyn as he picked up a pair of iron tongs. "I'm fairly certain I don't have to tell you what's going to happen if you fob me off anymore."  
  
"Don't do this Brooklyn," pleaded Mal. "We're friends for Christ's sake!"  
  
"No. We're not."  
  
"Yes we are!" yelled Malibu. "We've known each other-"  
  
"Know?" yelled the crimson gargoyle, cutting his clone off. "What the fuck do you know about me? Huh? Nothing! The only crap that you know about me is the shit I told you about!" He picked up one of the hotter looking coals with the tongs and pressed it against one of the gashes he had made on Mal's belly.  
  
Malibu actually stared at the flesh around his gut blister and sizzle for a full second before the pain overwhelmed him.  
  
He threw his head back and screamed. The pain was mind numbing.  
  
"THAT'S IT!" roared Brooklyn. "SCREAM ALLL YOU WANT! NOBODY CAN HEAR YOU!" He started laughing over his friend's screams as he slowly dragged the hot coal up along the cut, cauterising the wound and stopping the flow of blood while his friend screamed until he was hoarse.  
  
He pulled the coal away and Malibu slumped on the table. The agony he felt around his stomach was indescribable while his lungs felt like they were going to collapse. His breathing was shallow, his eyes barely opened to slits.  
  
Brooklyn's smiled increased when he saw the tears.  
  
"Are you crying bro?" he asked, voice laced with sadist amusement as he lifted Mal's head up to examine his face. He slapped him hard across the face when Mal didn't answer. "ARE YOU CRYING?" When he still didn't answer Brooklyn picked up a fresh coal in the tong and pressed it against another of the wounds on the clone's stomach.  
  
Mal screamed hoarsely, tears streaming down his face from the agony as Brooklyn grabbed him by the hair and started slamming the back of his head into the steel table with one hand while pressing the white hot coal on the tongs hard against his belly.  
  
"THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! CRY YOU WEAK LITTLE FUCKER! NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU!" laughed Brooklyn. "JEZEBEL AND FANG AIN'T GONNA SAVE YOUR SORRY ASS SO GO AHEAD AND CRY!"  
  
Mal's chest heaved as more tears streamed down his face while his lungs burned and threatened to give out on him.  
  
Brooklyn gave him a look of complete disgust and threw the tongs away. "You weak, pitiful fuck. You're a disgrace to our kind. You're a disgrace to my blood. You taint the Prince's Earth just by breathing." He walked up to a lever built into the side of the table and pulled it. The table Malibu was strapped to began to shift into a horizontal position. When it was fixed like this Brooklyn glanced over at the bucket of hot coals. It began to levitate in the air, moving forward as it rose until it landed again in the gap between Malibu's bare legs.  
  
The clone didn't register the pain caused by the blistering heat between his ankles simply because his stomach, chest and the back of his head were complaining much more loudly for him to notice it.  
  
"Are you holding out cause you think somebody's gonna come and save you?" asked Brooklyn. "Is that it?" He laughed. "No one knows what happening Mal. I assure you." He bent down until his face was several inches from the tear- streaked face of his former friend. "They can't even see what's happening to you."  
  
"What.what are you.talking about?" asked the clone, his voice weak, barely audible. "Someone's bound to notice what's happening to me."  
  
"No they won't. And I'll tell you why."  
Inside Demona's big armoured van  
  
Fang finished his cigarette and tossed it out the open window in the front compartment of the huge, heavily armoured RV. He and Faith had talked for a little while before she had drifted off in her chair behind Jezebel, who was keeping her eyes firmly on the road ahead, driving as fast as she could to Demona's residence in the South of Germany.  
  
His sensitive nose registered a strange smell coming from the back of the vehicle where the stairs were and where Malibu was sleeping on the couch.  
  
He turned his head to look into the back, yawning as he did so. The scent was quite exotic, but not unpleasant, it was strong and sharp though, very strong in fact.  
  
He glanced over at his best friend and smiled.  
  
Mal had stopped stirring and was sleeping peacefully the couch now, with Faith's leather jacket over him as a blanket. There was even a tiny smile lingering on his face.  
  
-Thank heaven he's feeling better.- Thought Fang silently to himself. -He really didn't need to see all that crap in Sudeny.-  
  
His thoughts drifted back to the odd smell of spices.  
  
-What the Hell is that?-  
  
He looked around the room from where he sat for a moment, thinking. He'd smelt it before somewhere, some time ago, but he couldn't remember for the life of him where and when that was.  
  
-Maybe it's a bottle of perfume or something that Faith brought. For formal occasions or something.-  
  
Apparently she had to do a lot of undercover work at times, infiltrating the homes of the rich and corrupt, usually as a party guest or as "hired furniture".  
  
He considered waking his ex-fiancée to ask her if that smell was coming from a cracked bottle of perfume she brought or something but decided against it when he looked back in her direction. Her chest was rising slowly as she sat with her head resting against the tall back of her chair. She looked very peaceful and serene in her sleep.  
  
But she could be violently cranky when somebody was stupid enough to disturb her in her sleep.  
  
Fang cast a glance back at Mal's peaceful, sleeping form.  
  
-Maybe I should wake him now?-  
  
He shook his head at the thought and smiled. -Nah.he needs his rest. We'll be at this place of Demona's in half an hour or so anyway. I'll wake him then.-  
  
He turned around in his chair and rested his head against it, trying to get some sleep.  
  
Derek's older sister, Elisa Maza, a detective working in New York, had been contacted to get certain "documents" that Brooklyn may have used to make notes while translating the Malus Codicium and bring them to Demona's estate in Germany. They had yet to hear from her yet so Fang assumed she was still poking her nose around the estate Macbeth had left him, Malibu and Brooklyn after his death.  
  
-That bitch better not be looking through my stuff,- he thought bitterly. He'd met Detective Maza on a number of occasions. He really didn't like her at all. She'd even arrested him once, although he doubted she'd remember it. He was on his way to meet with a client of his hateful, cheap, overweight; loudmouthed, evil; son-of-a-bitch boss and she'd given him a parking ticket. She was still a rookie and he was a human then and he'd been daft enough then to tell her exactly where she could shove her ticket and before he knew it he was spending the night as a guest of the city.  
  
"Damn Mazas," he grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms and trying to get comfortable in one of the four swivel chairs in the front. "They're all a bunch of hardasses."  
  
As he finally drifted off into sleep, the daemon Thzul'gzhu'vsra'kotllz watched him.  
  
~That was close.~  
  
It chuckled to itself at the stupidity of munades such as the cougar creature.  
  
~Fools like that really have no idea just what they are dealing with.~  
  
It monitored the illusion it had created around the pale green gargoyle that looked uncannily like the Anointed.  
  
~Must be the Master's brother or something.~  
  
When it became obvious that this fool wasn't going to co-operate with the Master's wishes he had instructed the daemon to create a visual and aural illusion around the stupid gargoyle so nobody would notice that he was slowly being tortured to death for information.  
  
The only sign that anything might be going on was the trademark smell of anything related to the daemon, but from what Thzul'gzhu'vsra'kotllz had just witnessed with the cougar creature, some of them had obviously no idea just what the Master was capable of, or even had any sort of knowledge of Daemonology.  
  
It turned its attention back to the little interrogation process, its many mouths grinning at the suffering the Master was rendering on the green gargoyle.  
Back in the mind of the Tainted  
  
"So," began Brooklyn, his tone changing to something a little more friendly. "It should be obvious to you now that you'll be broken sooner or later so you might as well come out and answer my questions."  
  
Mal looked away the red gargoyle's cocky stare, trying compose himself while mentally chastising himself for momentarily losing control.  
  
Brooklyn knew now he could break him. He'd shown him weakness.  
  
Maybe he could use that to his advantage.  
  
"Fuck you.Brook," he whispered into his interrogator's ear.  
  
Brooklyn took a step back from his clone, looking quite unimpressed. "Fine."  
  
He walked over to the bucket of hot coals sitting on the foot of the table, raising his hands before him as he did so. The bucket levitated in the air, before altering its position slightly until it hovered over the clone's right foot.  
  
"This is your last chance forgery," said Brooklyn coldly, not even looking in his friend's direction. "Tell me about Demona, tell me about that woman in black."  
  
It began to tilt mid-air as Malibu stared at it in horror.  
  
It tilted until a coal fell, hitting the steel table, missing his leg by barely an inch, before bouncing off the steel table.  
  
"Okay! Okay!" yelled Mal desperately. "She's an Inquisitor!"  
  
"Ah, finally," said Brooklyn, who smiled as the bucket assumed a vertical position yet again. "Do tell."  
  
"Her name's Faith Thompson," said the clone quickly. "She used to go out with Fang!"  
  
"Interesting, but a little off topic. What about the Inquisition huh? Has she been in contact with them recently?"  
  
"Yes," lied Mal, "she called them as soon as we left Sudeny."  
  
Brooklyn frowned. "What did she tell them?"  
  
"Everything."  
  
"Define, 'Everything."  
  
"She told them about the book, the carnage in the town, what you look like, as both a human and a gargoyle, the works."  
  
This seemed to alarm the crimson gargoyle considerably; he turned his back on his captive and began to pace along the chamber for several minutes, his face a mask of concentration as he took this information in.  
  
"Hmm.and Demona?"  
  
"Demona?"  
  
"Yes! Demona! The bitch that ruined my life!"  
  
"What about her?"  
  
Mal screamed as a single piece of hot coal flew from the bucket and pressed itself, hard against his thigh. Brooklyn waited patiently until he was sure that the clone could actually hear his flesh sizzle, smell the stench of his own burning flesh, and long enough that it would leave a permanent scar, stone sleep or not, before the coal removed itself and clattered along the floor.  
  
"How much does she know?" he asked, after Mal had stopped screaming.  
  
The pale green gargoyle slumped against the table, his breath quick as he gritted his teeth against the pain.  
  
He had to make this believable.  
  
"She.she knows," he moaned.  
  
"Yeah, she knows lots of things Mal, but what I want to know is if she know anything of our mutual situation."  
  
"Jezebel told her everything."  
  
Brooklyn nodded, his face impassive. He tapped his claws on the steel table for a brief period before he looked down at his clone and smiled, quite an unnerving sight.  
  
"You're a terrible liar my friend."  
  
He raised his hand in a careless gesture and the levitating bucket tipped.  
Beyond time and Space  
  
"Oh my God," muttered Macbeth, as he and Death watched Malibu's reaction to the bucket of hot coals.  
  
He turned his face away from the image that the Ultimate Reality had conjured for them to watch the progress of Jezebel and the other's progress.  
  
But the sounds of the torture, the crackling of fire and the sizzling of flesh.  
  
The screams.  
  
They all hounded after him, clawing at his sanity.  
  
I HAVE BEEN INFORMED, stated Death. THAT YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN THE OPTION OF INTERVENEING.  
  
The ancient king looked up at Death, his eyes suddenly hopeful, and quite desperate.  
  
"Now! Let me go now!" he screamed. "Let me help him!"  
  
The tall, blacked robed figure of the Grim Reaper looked, at Macbeth solemnly, the twin blue fireballs that rested in the sockets of his skull, which acted at his eyes, boring into him.  
  
YOU CAN ONLY INTERVENE ONCE, he said. ARE YOU SURE NOW IS THE BEST TIME?  
  
Macbeth's jaw dropped as he stared at the black figure. "What the Hell do you mean is this the best time?" he screamed, while pointing at the hovering image of Malibu, his left leg being burned beyond repair. The clone screamed hoarsely as he writhed on the table, before he mercifully blacked out.  
  
Brooklyn was staring balefully at him before he swivelled the table back into its original vertical position, the burning coals clattering to the floor as he muttered something incomprehensible.  
  
Death watched the image, his polished white skull unreadable.  
  
HOW DO YOU WISH TO INTERVENE?  
  
"What?"  
  
IF YOU TRY AND STOP BROOKLYN THERE THEN HE WILL TEAR YOU APART, said Death.  
  
"Then how can I intervene to stop this?" asked Macbeth desperately. It looked like Brooklyn was preparing something else for the clone.  
  
Death seemed to think for a moment. THERE IS ANOTHER WHO SLEEPS IN DEMONA'S RV.  
  
"The Inquisitor," muttered Macbeth in realisation.  
  
YES, said Death quickly. YOU CAN CONTACT HER. THE DAEMON CREATING THE ILLUSION AROUND MALIBU IS THE KEY. WITHOUT IT'S POWER BROOKLYN COULD NOT ATTEMPT ANYTHING LIKE THIS. TELL HER TO BREAK THE LINK, IT WILL DRIVE BROOKLYN OUT AND GIVE HIM A SEVERE MIGRAIN IN THE PROCESS.  
  
"Will save it save Malibu?"  
  
IT SHOULD, IF YOU MOVE QUICKLY, explained Death, turning to fully face the King.  
  
NOW, LOOK INTO MY EYES AND SEE.  
  
Macbeth did so, looking deep into the blue suns of Death's skull. They had pupils he realised, tiny centres of black in the burning blue chaos.  
  
Eyes in the storm.  
  
He looked into the darkness of these eyes, and found himself looking into infinity.  
  
He could see stars, nebula, the galaxy, speeding past his gaze at such speed they were but blurs, but he saw past them, to something else, to the dreams of the woman who could save Malibu's life.  
  
HE MUST SURVIVE, he heard Death saying to him. HE IS THE ONLY HOPE BROOKLYN HAS FOR SALVATION.  
  
Macbeth heard him, aware of a sudden feeling of movement all around him. The feeling grew more and more intense, no longer was he watching the universe and all creation speed past him, he was moving now as well.  
  
"I failed too many over the years," he whispered to himself. "I won't fail now."  
*****  
Faith stirred, restlessly in her sleep. She rarely ever dreamed, but she did now.  
  
She was walking through an intensely beautiful garden, her nose assaulted with the scents of a thousand different flowers as the sun shown down from a cloudless, cobalt blue sky.  
  
She could see a clump of weeping willows near a stream twenty or so yards off. The sound of water flowing rapidly over uneven stones, splashing occasionally, was always a comforting sound to her. She breathed in a deep sigh of contentment.  
  
All it lacked was Peter, or Fang, as he liked to call himself now.  
  
She was still angry with him, but it subsided a little with every passing moment they were near each other.  
  
He hadn't been the only one to think about what they each had, and lost through a moment of terror on Peter's part.  
  
Rather loud shouting suddenly interrupted her line of thought.  
  
"INQUISITOR THOMPSON!"  
  
She turned her head in the direction of the wild shouting, and saw a man dressed in black running towards her quickly.  
  
He looked to be in his mid fifties, with grey hair cut short with a connecting beard and moustache, he had black body armour on over a black jumper, heavy black combat boots and black cargo pants, while a black leather greatcoat with a red silk interior flapped around over this as he rushed quickly towards her.  
  
"Inquisitor Thompson!" yelled the man. His voice had an authorative air with a light Scottish accent. "You must wake up at once!"  
  
Faith watched the man carefully as he approached.  
  
"Who the Hell are you?" she asked venomously. "I don't dream that often. And I'm enjoying this one, so why the Hell should I wake up?"  
  
"My name is Macbeth," said the man quickly, and he explained everything that was happening while she slept.  
  
"Oh God," said Faith, shocked. "How do I stop this?"  
  
"Sever the link the daemon has with Brooklyn. If you drive it off Malibu then it will cut off Brooklyn's hold over him.and hopefully incapacitate him in the process." Explained Macbeth. "Jezebel and Demona should be able to do that easily."  
  
"I understand," replied Faith. "But, how do I wake up?"  
  
"Simple," replied Macbeth, grabbing her arm, pinching her with his fingers. "Good luck. And give Jezebel and the lads my regards."  
  
*****  
  
Fang had fallen asleep for about twenty seconds before he woke again. His wings were making his seat just too difficult to sit in comfortably, never mind get some shuteye.  
  
He looked over at Faith again, noticing her legs for the first time.  
  
Really noticing her legs.  
  
They were quite long, even in the unflattering black armoured body glove she was wearing he could see just how magnificently well built they were. Excellent calves, strong knees, powerful hips.  
  
His animal instincts getting the better of him momentarily, he started picturing just what he could do with those legs. He lent closer to smell her perfume, hoping Jezebel wouldn't turn her head around from her watching the road and see him standing slightly, leaning towards the gorgeous woman sitting behind her.  
  
His sensitive nose, ignoring the smell of spices in the rear, sniffed several times in her direction.  
  
He raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
She wasn't wearing perfume. In fact, he couldn't even smell any hair conditioner. He leant a little closer; his face barely inches from hers now.  
  
He sniffed again, and was rewarded with a whiff of carbolic soap, nothing overtly fancy, just simple, plain, carbolic soap. Her skin, on closer inspection, looked very well scrubbed, clean, and slightly rough.  
  
An image of her flashed in his head, briefly, for only an instant.  
  
It was of her in the bath.  
  
It wasn't actually an erotic image, he couldn't see anything significant.  
  
The image basically consisted of her, scrubbing herself roughly with a scrubbing brush. That was it, nothing else. She had her knees against her chest while she scrubbed her shins quickly and efficiently while the harsh smell of carbolic soap hung in the air.  
  
Despite the lack of anything he would usually drool over, Fang was suddenly desperately wishing he had somewhere private to go for a few minutes.  
  
Unfortunately for him his desires were killed when Faith woke, sat up straight, head butting him in the process, and screamed "STOP THIS THING RIGHT NOW!" at the top of her voice.  
  
*****  
  
As Jezebel slammed on the brakes, a confused look on her face, Faith rose and rushed to the back, not even noticing the bruise on her head or her dazed and moaning ex-fiancée sprawling on the floor, or even the sound of startled yelping and crashes upstairs.  
  
No sooner was she out of the driver's compartment than she smelled it.  
  
Spices, exotic, pleasant and very strong.  
  
"Daemon evil," she muttered to herself, enraged. "DEMONA! JEZEBEL!"  
  
Jezebel was beside her an instant later, the RV had almost lost control but she skidded it into a side lane of the motorway they were travelling on.  
  
She sniffed the air curiously as she stepped over Fang, who was now swearing very imaginatively.  
  
"What's that smell?" she asked Faith.  
  
"The smell of the Daemon!" yelled Demona, Brooklyn's staff in hand as she descended the stairs and stopped dead in her tracks when she smelt the air on the ground floor of her RV. The others appeared after her a few seconds later.  
  
"What the heck's all the yelling about?" asked Lex, rubbing his head angrily.  
  
"Malibu's under attack!" yelled Faith, ripping a vile of holy water from a pocket in her body glove, flipping the cap and tossing the contents over the sleeping clone.  
  
The others collectively gasped when the image of the clone sleeping peacefully vanished, replaced with him writhing in agony, his face bleeding, pinned down by a nightmare given physical form.  
  
It hissed in agony from the water, before it glared at the group through many, many eyes.  
  
"MAL!" roared Fang desperately. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM YOU BASTARD!" He was on his feet in an instant, and tried to run to his friend but Faith grabbed him roughly to force him back.  
  
"Peter you can't help him!" she yelled in his ear as he struggled to get free of her.  
  
"Let me go! Mal!"  
  
"You can't help him dammit!" she screamed. "Let Jezebel and Demona handle this! You'll only get in the way!"  
  
Fang looked from her to Malibu, he looked terrified.  
  
"He'll be okay," she whispered soothingly as Demona and started yelling something in Latin, the metal staff in her hand glowing flame red, like her hair.  
  
The daemon hissed dangerously at her before Jezebel sent a small spray of amber coloured ball lightning at it.  
  
It writhed from the blast, but held the clone down firmly.  
  
~Master!~ it yelled. ~We are discovered!~  
  
Demona pointed the raven end of the staff at the daemon, screaming the last command word as she did so. The glowing red light concentrated around the ornate metal raven, its wings outstretched, sitting on top of the magnificent weapon.  
  
The air filled the smell of o-zone as a streak of red light came from the staff, as it buckled in Demona's hands, striking the daemon in the head.  
  
The daemon thrashed around on the couch, swearing in its unholy language at them as Demona struck it again.  
  
Jezebel shut her eyes and began to chant something under her breath.  
  
Faith drew her long sword, it's blade etched from end to end in holy sigils as she began to recite a prayer of banishment. The daemon hissed at her as she approached it, her sword in a two handed grip.  
  
She swung in an upward arc, her recitation becoming a scream as her blade, blessed six hundred and sixty six times, by a Bishop by the name of Alessandro Sanchez a few years ago, at the daemon.  
  
The daemon hissed in terror and vanished before the blade could touch it.  
  
*****  
  
Brooklyn smiled as Malibu stirred and woke from unconsciousness. The clone was dazed, and looked like he was going to throw up.  
  
His leg had been ruined from the knee down, a lot of the skin had been burned off, and puss and other bodily fluids was running over the flesh, some actually dripping from the foot onto the floor, forming a small, clear yellow puddle.  
  
He pulled the coals away before any nerve endings could be fried beyond repair, simply because all he had to do now was apply a lot of salt, maybe a few weak acids or strong alkalises, and the clone would be telling him anything he wanted.  
  
~Master! We are discovered!~  
  
The voice seemed to echo around the room, coming from all around them.  
  
"Damn," muttered Brooklyn before he turned his attention back to the clone. He shrugged and drew one of his Desert Eagle .50 calibre pistols from their shoulder holsters and smiled apologetically at his clone. "Sorry Mal. This was fun and all but I'm afraid I have to cut our little conversation short."  
  
He raised the high calibre pistol and pointed it at the clone's face, aiming for between his eyes. "Goodbye Mal."  
  
A hand grabbed him from behind and spun him around roughly before he could pull the trigger. Brooklyn got the breath knocked out of him, as the barrel of pump action shotgun was jammed hard against his flat belly.  
  
He looked up at the newcomer in shock.  
  
"Jezebel?"  
  
The witch said nothing, she just pulled the trigger.  
  
Brooklyn's stomach collapsed on itself as the buckshot round exploded from the barrel, barely an instant later there was an explosion of blood, chunks of flesh, bone fragments, and bits of black leather and cloth coming out from his back.  
  
The gargoyle's eyes rolled in their sockets before he collapsed, vanishing before his corpse even hit the ground.  
  
The witch quickly ran over to the bound clone, dropping her shotgun as she did so.  
  
She lifted his head up gently and looked into his tired grey eyes.  
  
"Jezebel?" asked Mal, his voice barely audible.  
  
She nodded before she looked at the state he was in. "My God."  
  
She looked into his eyes again. "Wake up Mal, you must wake up."  
  
The clone's head drooped, he felt so tired.  
  
Jezebel didn't ask him again.  
  
"Forgive me," she muttered before she slapped him across the face. "NOW WAKE UP!"  
  
*****  
  
Demona grabbed her stomach and screamed before she crumpled to the floor. Fang, not noticing this, pushed through the others in the RV roughly, yelling his best friend's name as he knelt beside him.  
  
"Mal? Mal? Say something!"  
  
The clone stirred on the couch, his head was bleeding from several places as Fang gently lifted his head up.  
  
He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "What took so long?" He moaned in agony. "Oh God my foot."  
  
Fang looked in the direction of his friend's bare feet.  
  
"Jesus Christ."  
  
"Get that body glove off," yelled Jezebel. "He's bleeding from about a dozen places. I'll get us to Demona's estate as fast as I can. We can tend to his wounds there."  
  
With that she vanished back into the driver's compartment and slammed her foot back on the accelerator. The RV lurched as it began to move and pick up speed.  
  
It was only then Fang noticed Demona was lying on the ground, clutching her stomach, with Goliath, Broadway and Lexington beside her, seeing if she was okay.  
  
"What happened?" asked Broadway worriedly.  
  
"I.I don't know," confessed Demona as she lent on Goliath as she stood. "I don't understand it. I shouldn't have felt anything."  
  
She trailed off as she looked at Fang, who quickly avoided her gaze.  
  
Her face hardened. "The witch didn't tell me something." She said while Lex and Broadway came over to help Faith take Malibu's body glove off.  
  
There were several shocked gasps and a fair bit of swearing as they say the damage done and Demona decided to drop it for now when she saw the look on Fang's face at how badly hurt his friend was.  
  
The hotel in Waldenburg, Poland  
  
"That.damned.bitch."  
  
Blood soaked the carpet as Brooklyn crawled along the floor, his clothes totally drenched in his own blood. He coughed violently as he stopped and rolled on his back.  
  
The room was spinning quite quickly.  
  
~Master? Are you all right?~  
  
Brooklyn actually laughed at that, a rather sick, gurgling sound rather than an actual laugh came from his lips though.  
  
"What a fucking question!"  
  
He moaned in pain in-between coughs. "Why the fuck does she always aim for the stomach? Doesn't she realise just how much that fucking hurts?"  
  
~I dare say that's why she aims there.~ said Thzul'gzhu'vsra'kotllz.  
  
Brooklyn coughed some more before he moaned even louder.  
  
"Great! Just fucking great!"  
  
~What is it Master?~  
  
"I've got a fucking migraine coming," roared Brooklyn.  
  
~It could be worse Master, she could have shot you in the head.~  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
Two and a half hours later, Demona's estate in Southern Germany  
  
Fang sat near Malibu's bed and took a heavy sigh. His shoulders were drooped, arms resting on his thighs while his wings folded around him in a loose cloak. He had removed his black armoured body glove and had dawned a pair of sand coloured cargo pants and a black T-shirt that had been washed so many times that it had faded to an extremely dark shade of grey. He had passed the hour and a half since Demona and Jezebel had patched his friend up by sitting by his bedside, his eyes either looking at the clone's sleeping form or at the floor.  
  
His weary emerald eyes rose from the floor to take another glance at his best friend.  
  
Mal was sleeping in one of the guestrooms in Demona's mansion, in a rather elegant four-poster, the heavy linen blankets pulled up to his throat and tucked in. His chest rose and fell steadily now where it had previously risen and fallen erratically.  
  
He had blacked out from blood loss in the RV after they had taken off his body glove, his T-shirt and shorts moist and red from the heavy gash in his belly. He had to be stripped and have the blood washed off him when they got him inside. His wounds had been bandaged, including the burns all along his right leg from the knee down.  
  
He rubbed the bandage on his left arm. They both had the same blood type and it was the very least he could do.  
  
Demona had assured him repeatedly that the burns on his leg and foot would heal after a week if he was allowed to use stone sleep and he didn't put any weight on it until then. The gashes on his shoulder and face would also heal. Stone sleep usually dealt with flesh wounds. However.  
  
His three broken ribs would take about a week or more. And even though the cuts on his cheek would heal, they were quite deep, and that meant that there would be scars. The same went for the one gash on his stomach that Brooklyn hadn't cauterised. The other two, the ones that Brooklyn had burned would heal in two or three days, like his foot, and the scars they left would be very unpleasant to look at.  
  
Fang put his palm gently on Mal's forehead, checking his temperature for the sixth time in the past ten minutes to make sure he wasn't developing a fever.  
  
It was all right; Demona had assured him. Mal would heal eventually and the best thing he could do for him was to be there when he woke up.  
  
But it wasn't all right. It could never be all right.  
  
Brooklyn had tortured him. He had tortured him a few feet from where he was sitting and he didn't even know it was happening.  
  
He had failed to protect Malibu in quite spectacular fashion. It made him sick to think about it, but his thoughts kept going back to what had happened.  
  
He had been staring at Faith's legs. He had smelled that damn smell of daemons at least ten minutes before anybody else, and he had done nothing. He was too busy thinking with his dick to even consider it odd.  
  
There was a mirror on the opposite side of the room from where he sat, a full length, brass framed 18th century mirror. He couldn't even bare to look at himself in it.  
  
He stared at the floor again, at the finely woven, dark green rug under his Chippendale chair.  
  
He felt movement under his left palm and realised that he still had his hand on Mal's forehead. A weak yawn followed.  
  
"Fang?"  
  
Fang looked up into Mal's face, a heavy, thick plaster covering his right cheek completely while several lighter cuts had simple, thin plasters across them. His grey eyes were bloodshot and looked very tired. He smiled weakly at the mutate.  
  
"Hi," he whispered, his voice barely audible even to Fang's keen ears. He looked so pale.  
  
"Hey," he managed to reply eventually. "How ya feeling buddy?"  
  
"I.I'd be lying if I told you I've felt worse." Mal's smile strengthened a little. "You?"  
  
-He's asking me how I feel? Christ.- "Oh me? Uhh.I'm great." -I just wanna kill myself for letting that bastard do this to you.-  
  
Malibu looked at him a little uncertainly. "You sure?"  
  
Fang nodded, taking his hand off his friend's forehead. "I was.I was just checking your temperature."  
  
"How long have I been out of it?" yawned Mal.  
  
"Just a couple of hours," answered Fang, trying to avoid looking into Malibu's eyes again. "You lost an awful lot of blood. Jezzy thinks you shouldn't try moving until you get your strength back up."  
  
He was suddenly aware Mal was looking at the bandage on his arm.  
  
"How'd this happen?" asked the clone rather quickly, moving his right arm out from under his blankets to check Fang's arm, but stopping halfway when the gash on his right shoulder stung him quite sharply. He gritted his teeth but a pitiful snarl escaped his lips none the less.  
  
"Easy kid." Fang gently took his friend's arm and put it back under the blankets. "Nothing major, we just have the same blood type."  
  
"You.you gave me blood?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Fang smiled weakly at Malibu, feeling unusually awkward. "Hell.no big deal kid.I mean you'd do the same for me. No big deal."  
  
"Still.thanks."  
  
An awkward silence prevailed in the room. Fang started his vigil on the floor again, while Malibu looked at him in silence.  
  
-He's blaming himself,- thought Mal sadly. -He's wondering why I'm not angry with him.-  
  
Fang could handle anger from people. Talon, Faith, Sevarius, Demona, his father. Apart from Faith he knew about all of them.  
  
Fang's grandfather and grandmother had been refugees, former serfs from the Ukraine, fleeing the civil war that had ravaged the former Russian Empire after the October Revolution. They'd made over the border into Romania and on to a ship heading to America. They'd settled down in New Jersey, adopted new names and converted to Catholicism from their Eastern Orthodox religion so they'd fit in better. They were illegal immigrants.  
  
Fang's father had been born into wedlock in 1938, killing his mother. He was his grandfather's only son. His grandfather never remarried.  
  
His father had been nineteen when he met his future wife. They had dated for nearly two years and then they'd wed. Fang had never known his grandfather, he only ever knew him from pictures in old family albums and stories his dad had told him when he was sober. His mum and dad had moved away to a town twenty miles outside of Pittsburgh. Neither had attended college. Fang, or Peter as he was baptised, had been born in 1966, on the same day as his father had.  
  
Things had been fine until Fang was five. His father was laid off from whatever job he had (Fang had an annoying habit not telling the whole story he had noted), steel probably, and hit the bottle. His mother had also been working part time then, leaving him with her sister, who had lived a few miles from them. She now began to take extra part time jobs, hoping his dad got himself together soon so that she could spend more time looking after their child.  
  
He hadn't.  
  
Fang was seven when he first saw his father beat his mother, but it was probably not the first time. She'd put sugar in his tea by accident and his father had beaten her black and blue across the face with his belt. She'd sent him away to her sister's that night. But she'd stayed where she was.  
  
As he grew older he'd started to stay in his aunt's a lot more. His mother was trying to shield from his father's fall into alcohol and violence. But he had to come home sometimes. She was beaten, time and time again, as her husband got drunk from money he took off her. He never touched Fang though, which caused even more resentment in him.  
  
When he was thirteen, his father had come back in a particularly nasty drunken stupor. He found his mother and proceeded to beat her with his belt. Fang had taken a poker for the fire and broke his father's jaw with it.  
  
Then something happened that had stunned him.  
  
When he went to help his mother up, she hit him. Hit him so hard that he was knocked to the ground. She then fell on her husband and hugged him, crying her eyes out. She had never, ever raised her hand to him before that. He sat staring at her, sitting on the floor, his mouth open, tears dripping down his reddened cheeks, as he realised the awful truth that his mother would never escape from the violence, and he had just made things an awful lot worse for her.  
  
By the time the paramedics left the social workers were just arriving. He was moved around for a year and a half in the state before somebody was willing to take someone in who had started lashing out at anyone around him, screaming all sorts of terrible threats at his foster parents, breaking furniture, and beating the living daylights out of anybody who crossed his path in school.  
  
Of all the peoples in the world, it was a pair of German immigrants who took in the grandson of a Ukrainian refugee. Dr. Frederick and Mina Khines.  
  
They calmed him down in time for college.  
  
-That's where Faith came into it I guess,- thought Mal. He looked at Fang again, remembering their conversations over the past few years, coming to a small epiphany as he did so. -That's why were so close,- he realised. -We're not just best friends.we're each other's councillors too.-  
  
Straining a little, he slid his right arm out of the covers again, not really feeling much pain now, just a little stiffness, and placed his hand on Fang's left shoulder, squeezing it weakly.  
  
Fang didn't look up from the ground, he looked miserable now, but he put his own right hand over Mal's, squeezing back before he eventually spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't help you kid. I'm sorry I let this happen to you."  
  
"It's okay, it's not your fault, you couldn't have known."  
  
Fang still didn't look up at him, but Mal could feel him shaking. He closed his eyes tightly for a few minutes, his teeth gritted slightly and breathing deeply through his nose. When he opened his eyes again he had stopped shaking. He looked up into Malibu's face and smiled at him, squeezing his hand tightly.  
  
"It won't happen again kid, ever. If anything ever happened to you.I'd.I'd never forgive myself."  
  
Mal smiled back at him. "Thanks."  
  
He raised his eyebrows suddenly. "Hasn't Elisa called yet?" He paused as he moved his legs under the sheets. "And where the Hell are my clothes?"  
  
*****  
  
Jezebel walked along the main hall of Demona's lavish mansion, wiping her fingers along furniture and tables, rather taken aback by the lack of efficiency of the staff.  
  
She strode across the black and white checker tiled floor, where a grand pair of staircases with decorated rosewood railings would take her up to the first floor of the four-floor building.  
  
The detective was quite late and hadn't called. She was beginning to wonder if she should have just taken a plane herself back to the estate and searched Brooklyn's study on her lonesome.  
  
"Probably doesn't know what she's looking for," she muttered to herself.  
  
There was a sudden crack of thunder outside followed immediately by a flash of lightning. It had started raining quite heavily again.  
  
Jezebel started for the stairs to check to see if Malibu was awake and might be a little hungry or might want some of his clothes but stopped herself as her foot came onto the first step.  
  
What if this detective Maza had found any notes Brooklyn may have made and then been waylaid somewhere between here and New York?  
  
She thought back to the daemon that had almost murdered one of her cares under her very nose.  
  
Was that the first time Brooklyn had used that little bastard? Or perhaps something just like it?  
  
She began to hate herself for not just disposing of that damned book.  
  
What if Detective Maza really was in trouble?  
  
As she thought about this, there was another loud crash that echoed throughout the hall. It took her a second to realise it was one of the knockers on the huge oak double doors and not the storm.  
  
One of Demona's servants, a tall, thin woman with neat brown hair that was probably dyed in her early sixties whom Jezebel had heard Demona address as "Frau Gauss", came out of a side door and headed to the main doors. She had a very severe looking face that seemed to suggest to Jezebel that she had been a teacher at one stage in her life. She wore one of those black and white numbers that are universally associated with maids.  
  
Jezebel didn't like her, which was why she headed to the door as well; intent on meeting whoever it was with a smile instead of a look of distaste that she had given her when she had first entered.  
  
She wondered fleetingly if she had ever been part of the Hitler Youth as a young girl and just where the devil Demona had met her as she out paced the maid and beat her to the door.  
  
She opened it quickly, relishing in the upper class sneer that the good maid was probably giving her behind her back until she got a good look at who was standing outside in the rain.  
  
"Oh my God."  
  
*****  
  
Demona walked around the circular room two storeys below ground level that she had occasionally used for the practice of magic and the finer points of combat with various weapons, frowning.  
  
It would have to do.  
  
She had an altar of granite in the very centre of the room, which itself was quite large with a very high ceiling.  
  
Upon the altar lay.  
  
She looked away from what lay on the altar. "It's necessary," she repeated to herself. "Necessary."  
  
"Is it?" asked a voice from the other side of the room.  
  
She looked around to see Goliath standing at the open double doors, frowning, his arms crossed. "Is it Demona?" He advanced on her slowly.  
  
"I've told you before Goliath. This is the only option I have left."  
  
"Are you positive?"  
  
"Completely. I have tried absolutely everything else possible to track him. It's failed, all of it."  
  
"And what makes you so certain this will work? You've never done it before."  
  
"I'm the only person here that has had any experience with that damned book. I remember some of what I read, but not enough to try this without having any chance of success."  
  
"And what if it goes wrong?" grumbled the lavender giant.  
  
"That's why I'm here," said Faith as she entered the room.  
  
Both gargoyles looked her over.  
  
She was in her armoured body glove, her black hair sitting loosely around her shoulders. She wasn't wearing any of her guns or close combat weapons, nor her leather jacket.  
  
Instead she was cradling a silver and black flamethrower in her hands. The tanks on her back were strapped firmly in place, while a large crucifix was shoved in her belt.  
  
"Where did you get that?" rumbled Goliath as Faith strode calmly towards them. Faith smiled at him.  
  
"I found it in one of Demona's rooms."  
  
Goliath looked back at Demona, his mouth dropping slightly to ask her just what she thought she needed a flamethrower for, but the azure gargess was now looking away from him into one of the midnight blue walls, looking quite awkward and biting her lip.  
  
"Don't worry Goliath," said Faith calmly. "If Demona screws this up then you'll be thankful I've got this." She patted it. "Fire cleanses all. After all."  
  
Goliath looked between the both before turning his attention back to Faith. "Who were those gargoyles we found in Sudeny?"  
  
Faith's smile dropped. "I was waiting for that," she said sadly. "The Inquisition has been using gargoyles as allies since the late 17th century."  
  
"Yes. Before that you hunted us," said Demona coldly, not even looking at her.  
  
Faith glared at Demona's back hatefully. "You are who I think you are, aren't you?"  
  
Demona turned to face her, arms crossed over her chest, her face unreadable. "And who would that be?"  
  
"Caeruleus Diabolus."  
  
Goliath frowned, while Demona smiled at Faith in an almost nostalgic way.  
  
"The Blue Devil." Finished Demona. "Yes human, that's who I used to be those in your order. To the Hunters I am called "The Demon"; different opponents always gave me different names. But the fate they faced when they fought me was always the same."  
  
"You're responsible for the deaths of quite a few of our operatives over the centuries."  
  
"Then why are you working with me and not trying to blow my head off?"  
  
"I really don't want to. But I have no choice in this matter. You've seen what happened when we tried to take Brooklyn or whoever it is with him on."  
  
"So you also think this is the only way?" asked Goliath.  
  
Faith sighed. "I'm sorry to say I agree with Demona. I can't think of any other way of finding out where he is going." She rubbed her chin with a gloved hand. "And this won't be the first time one of our order has had involvement with Daemonology. There are actually those in our order who use Daemonic Power to fight the Darkness."  
  
"And what becomes of them?" asked Goliath.  
  
"Well.some have actually been fairly successful."  
  
"Some?"  
  
"Well.it's incredibly dangerous you see.the unlucky ones are usually driven insane and have to be put out of their misery, by other Inquisitors usually."  
  
Goliath looked at Faith worriedly. "They're driven mad?"  
  
"Well.the ones that don't die hideous deaths or have their souls destroyed when they try to create a daemonhost or miscast some complicated spell."  
  
Goliath looked quickly back in Demona's direction. "And when were you planning to tell us this?"  
  
"Goliath, I hadn't intended to have you present when I try and summon and bind a daemon," explained Demona quickly. "Only myself, Faith, Jezebel and Fang will be in here."  
  
"Why you four?"  
  
"Because," butted in Faith. "Physical weapons are about as useful against an incorporeal daemon as spitting is for knocking down very thick walls. If you were to put your hand in it then it would be burnt to a cinder by the energy."  
  
Demona stepped in at this point. "The four of us can combat it if it gets loose during the ceremony. Jezebel and I can use sorcery, Fang can use his electrical blasts, and while Faith can use the flamethrower and any other tricks she may know."  
  
Faith smiled at the lavender giant while looking him over in his loincloth. "Don't take this the wrong way nature boy, but the rest of you will just get in our way."  
  
Goliath was about give off to the woman, when there was a polite cough coming from the doorway. The trio turned to see Jezebel standing before them, looking rather unsettled.  
  
"Detective Maza is here. In the study." She looked at Goliath. "I'm afraid something happened when she was going through our estate."  
  
Goliath's eye ridges rose while worry spread across his face. "What?"  
  
"She was attacked and.maybe you better see for yourself."  
  
*****  
  
Elisa sipped the cup of tea Frau Gauss had offered her, the cup shaking slightly both from the cold outside, and from her previous experience.  
  
"Elisa?"  
  
The detective looked up into Broadway's worried face and smiled weakly at him. "Yeah Broadway?"  
  
"What happened? Are you."  
  
"I'm fine Broadway, really," said Elisa slowly. "I'm just tired. I've been travelling most of the day."  
  
Broadway nodded in understanding, taking a seat opposite the couch Elisa was sitting on, trying not to look at her, while trying to make it look like he wasn't deliberately avoiding looking at her.  
  
Elisa appreciated the effort and smiled slightly.  
  
There was fast, hard steps echoing on the tiled floor outside.  
  
"ELISA! ELISA!"  
  
The doors flew open as Goliath rushed into the room, almost splintering the doors in his haste. "ELISA!"  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his love. "Oh my God." His face sank as he slowly walked over to her. "What.what happened to you?"  
  
Elisa placed the cup of tea on the table next to the couch, stood up and hugged Goliath. "It's nothing. I'm okay big guy, I'll be okay."  
  
The huge lavender gargoyle traced his hand along her scarred face. "How did this happen?"  
  
Elisa looked up into his dark eyes, and explained everything.  
A few hours ago, Manhattan  
  
The first crow that smashed through the glass was nearly decapitated when Owen shot it in the head at point blank range.  
  
"Get out of the car!"  
  
Swearing a blue streak, Talon kicked the door on his side, knocking it completely off its hinges and sending it skidding along the ground as crows mobbed him.  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
He started batting them away with his arms and wings, his fists glowing brightly with electrical energy, detonating any bird that touched them.  
  
As Elisa tried her door, her head spinning, she felt the notes Owen had collected and put in a file shoved roughly against her chest.  
  
"Get those to the Demona!" yelled Owen quickly, shoving her out of her door and following her closely. "Use the sewers! Make your way to the airport as fast as you can!"  
  
The was the sound of metal being torn as Claw removed his door and leapt out of Elisa's ruined car. The crackling of electricity quickly followed this sound before the smell of charred flesh and burnt feathers filled the air.  
  
Tucking the file tightly under her arm, Elisa quickly started scanning the road for an entrance to the sewers, drawing her Beretta as she did so.  
  
A crow came at her, cawing wildly, its beady eyes a bright shade of red.  
  
She fired her pistol, the 9mm round smashing through its rib cage and exploding out its back. It crashed to the ground a few inches from her feet.  
  
Another came at her, and another, she shot them all down before got close. She looked up into the sky in a brief reprieve. The black flock of birds dominated the night sky.  
  
Nearly a hundred dived at her.  
  
She started running, pulling her red leather bomber jacket over her head, trying to cover her face as she desperately searched for a manhole.  
  
She stumbled as the first slammed into her back, her left leg gave out from under her as a crow actually rammed itself against the back of her knee.  
  
"Shit!" she screamed before falling flat on her face, the file going flying out of her grip and sliding along the tarmac a few feet away.  
  
She could actually feel the shadow come over her as the birds dived upon her, pinning her down by simple weight of numbers. They scrambled all over her as she started thrashing wildly around, kicking and slapping them away from her.  
  
Her gun had flown out of her hand too. "Fuck!"  
  
They tore at her, over the almost deafening thunder of hundreds of wings flapping wildly all around her she though she could hear Derek screaming her name.  
  
She batted another away from her; only to have it replaced a second later, hissing menacingly through its pointed, black beak. She brought her fist down on it as hard as she could, cracking its skull against the hard road as she began to crawl towards the file.  
  
She gritted her teeth as she felt them pecking at her legs, swearing rather imaginatively when she felt stings of pain as the crows' beaks began to penetrate her blue jeans.  
  
One came at her, diving from the air as if it were a released bomb, its beak driving into the back of her right shoulder, penetrating both her jacket and her thin black T-shirt.  
  
Elisa screamed, more in rage than pain. She reached over her head, grabbed the bird, wrenched it out of her bleeding wound, too rushed with adrenaline now to noticed the pain, and began smashing it, head first against the ground.  
  
Several came at her face; one actually dug its razor like claws into her face, drawing blood.  
  
She screamed again, even harder when the daemonic bird flew back, opening the new cuts across Elisa's attractive, brown face. She could feel the blood flowing down her cheeks. She could taste it in her mouth.  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
She batted them away as one got caught in her raven black hair. Screeching, it started to peck her at the back of her neck.  
  
She covered her bleeding face with her arms, shaking as she crawled over to the file as quickly as she could, covering it protectively with her body as she tried to look through her crossed arms, desperately trying to find a manhole cover, or failing that, her gun.  
  
She heard several thumps, just before a shower of burnt feathers fell around her. A moment later, she felt a large, powerful arm, rap around her waist, pulling her up quickly, she could see huge, tattered bat like wings rap around her protectively.  
  
It was Claw.  
  
He smiled at her reassuringly, stumbling forward quickly as the crows tried to swamp him. His wings were speckled with holes along the membranes; some of the tears were several inches in length. He was bleeding from several large cuts across his chest and face.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked the tiger mutate. He nodded a positive, his reassuring smile etched with pain.  
  
Elisa looked through one of the larger gaps in Claw's wings and saw Owen, standing defiantly amongst the chaos, his normally composed face fixed in grim determination. He had several mild cuts across the right side of his face but other than that he appeared to be totally untouched.  
  
She could hear Derek yelling something, swears mostly, but she couldn't pinpoint him at that exact moment.  
  
The birds had stopped attacking her and Claw. They'd all started circling Owen.  
  
~You aren't who you appear are you?~  
  
It was that daemon thingy, even though she could hear it was obvious that it was addressing Mr. Burnett.  
  
Owen looked up into the sky, his face unchanging as he raised his hands.  
  
"I believe daemon, that you constitute a threat to both the clan and Alexander," he said, the slightest hint of anger in his usual monotone. He suddenly became distorted in a haze of blinding light. When it vanished, in his place stood a small, elf-like man dressed in fantastically coloured clothing, with long, silvery hair and sparkling vermilion eyes.  
  
~A Fey,~ muttered the daemon indignantly.  
  
"Oh not just any Fey beakface!" Yelled Puck, his usually mirthful voice now laced with ice. A powerful white aura began to surround him as held his open palmed hands in front of him. Elisa could feel the daemon bracing itself as the smell of spices became apparent in the air again.  
  
"Elisa! Claw!"  
  
The pair looked over to where Talon was standing, nearly a dozen meters away, he was cut and bleeding in various places while his wings were torn in places like Claw's from where crows had tried to get at his face. He was by an open manhole, the circular cover of it in his hands. "Let's get the Hell outta here!"  
  
"Go on!" Yelled Puck, looking upward into the thickest part of the flock. "I'll handle this."  
  
Elisa tried to protest but Claw, seeing the wisdom in not sticking around, ignored her protests as he sped across the road to Talon, keeping Elisa firmly under his arm.  
  
Elisa heard Puck scream something in a language she didn't know before the ground began shake slightly. She heard the daemon roar in her mind, taking the Fey's challenge. There was a distinct change in the atmosphere, it felt colder, she could hear the crackling of electricity as both her hair and Claw's began to stand on end as a growing blue light picked up their shadows on the ground. She breathed out through her mouth, it was smokey.  
  
She squirmed in Claw's rock hard grip, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening behind her.  
  
They were only a couple of meters from the manhole when she turned to look at her younger brother.  
  
Talon's mouth was slack jawed, his eyes bulging out like dinner plates.  
  
"Holy Crap."  
  
Elisa tried to yell a question at him, namely, what the Hell was going on behind them, when Claw abruptly stopped, hugged her his chest, and dived into the hole, feet first.  
  
There was a loud splash as Claw landed quite hard on his feet and scanned the surrounding area. The sewer tunnel they were in was quite dark, preventing the tiger mutate from seeing more than a few meters. The walls were lined with a thick coat of grime, there were thin concrete walkways on either side of the small stream of dark green tinted sludge the flowed at shin depth, which Claw was immersed in. There was the unpleasant odour of rotting food and excrement in the air.  
  
A moment later Talon landed beside them. He looked very flustered. He grabbed Claw rather ungraciously by his free arm and started dragging them down the direction that was in the opposite direction of Puck's duel with the daemon.  
  
"Derek what's going on up there?" asked Elisa. She was still being held by Claw but didn't really mind at this point. Claw was a much faster runner than she was and didn't seem slowed down by her weight under his arm.  
  
"Something big!" replied her brother, not even turning to look at her as he raced down the tunnel on the walkway just ahead of them.  
  
He seemed spooked. She wondered what he had seen.  
  
The sound of the explosion hit them before the shockwave did. It was deafening even to Elisa's less sensitive human ears. They all screamed at the pain in their heads as they slowed down, blood pouring from their ears and noses.  
  
The shockwave knocked them off their feet. Talon actually fell into the stream of sludge while Claw fell forward, wrapping his wings around himself to protect both him and Elisa. The ground shook violently for a moment, causing bits of the ceiling above them to crack and fall on them. A small tidal wave of sewage water hit them a second later, drenching them all and nearly lifting them off the ground before rushing on.  
  
Talon coughed and spat out a mouthful of sewer water, swearing as he rose unsteadily to his feet. Claw uncapped his wings around himself and Elisa, his hands on his head while he gritted his teeth, groaning slightly. Elisa sat up, her head spinning as she rose to her feet with Claw's assistance.  
  
She noticed the look Claw was giving her. She ran her hands over her face; feeling sharps stings whenever her hands made contact with the cuts the crow had given her. Some were quite deep.  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Do you hear anything?" asked Talon.  
  
Elisa and Claw listened intently for what may be happening on the ground. It had gone completely silent.  
  
"Should we go up and see if Puck's okay?" she asked. She didn't really care much for either Owen or Puck, but she never would wish death on either of them.  
  
Talon shook his head quickly. "No, no. We get you to the Xanatos' plane first. Puck can take care of himself just fine." Even when he was saying this he didn't seem totally convinced.  
  
But he was right. If they delayed, then they ran the risk of being attacked again, perhaps by something bigger and nastier than that crow thing.  
  
Talon led them down the tunnels. All were silent as they went.  
Back to Present, Demona's South German Estate  
  
"So that's what happened," said Elisa tiredly. "Derek led us to the airport through the sewers. I got on Xanatos' personal jet, and just arrived at the airport in Munich about half an hour ago."  
  
Goliath looked tenderly on his beloved, his dark eyes looking deeply into her chocolate brown. His eyes lowered slightly to look at the fresh scars on her face. His eyes flared slightly.  
  
"I'll kill him," he whispered, so low his voice was almost inaudible. "I'll kill him for this."  
  
His voice was just loud enough for Jezebel to hear though. "You most certainly will not." She said coldly.  
  
"Of course I will! Look what he's done to Elisa!"  
  
"He did worse to Malibu!" yelled Jezebel as Faith and Demona came into the room. "But I know Mal will be still trying to save him!"  
  
"He's too dangerous to let live!" roared Goliath fiercely, his eyes blazing.  
  
The old lady didn't flinch. Instead she glared right back at the huge gargoyle, a faint amber glow in her eyes. "I contacted you on the understanding that you'd help us save him," she said, her voice reaching sub-zero levels. "My orders were to protect him, Fang and Mal."  
  
"And you've done a great job too," remarked Broadway dryly.  
  
Jezebel turned her stare to him and he shut up quickly.  
  
She turned her attention to Demona. "And you're opinion on the matter?"  
  
Demona looked between Elisa, Goliath and Macbeth's old servant.  
  
"I.I'm not sure," she said evenly. She looked at Goliath, "I suppose you're right. He's out of control. It's a miracle that Elisa and Malibu survived."  
  
"What are you saying Demona?" asked Jezebel.  
  
"We have to stop Brooklyn. Even if we have to kill him."  
  
Jezebel's eyes darted to look at Faith, her eyes pleading. "And your humble opinion Inquisitor?"  
  
Faith sighed, looking at the floor as she spoke. "I'm afraid I agree with nature boy." Jezebel looked at the floor herself before Faith continued. "But.if it's at all possible to reach him then I think we should try for that option first.only kill him as a last resort."  
  
Jezebel gave her a smile of thanks before looking at Elisa, Broadway, and Lexington, who had just, came into the room. "And you three?"  
  
"I'm with Faith," said Lex immediately.  
  
"Same here," said Broadway a moment later. "We have to at least try."  
  
Elisa shook her head, refusing to say anything. Instead she just handed over the bad smelling file to Demona, and requested the use of some of her old clothes and a bathroom.  
Demona's estate, three hours after sunrise  
  
Fang walked quietly through the huge gardens, his tail dragging behind him.  
  
The sky had cleared, now there was barely a cloud in the cobalt sky, with the sun beating gently on his face as his bare, furry feet trudged through the damp grass. He could smell the dampness. It was quite refreshing. His ears picked up the sound of birds chirping in a small forest of elms, ash and oak that lay to his left, about three hundred yards away.  
  
There was a stream to his right, with an oriental rock garden along the side, leading up to a small wooden, Japanese style, bridge that crossed over the fast flowing stream. A small patch of weeping willows was on the other side of the stream whose source he couldn't figure out. He made out the silhouettes of several rabbits underneath the shade of the trees.  
  
His stomach growled at him as he watched them. He'd forgotten the last time he'd eaten something. He shook his head though. He was definitely not that hungry.  
  
"Malibu would enjoy this," came a familiar voice from behind.  
  
Fang smiled, but didn't turn his head around. "Shouldn't you be helping Demona Jezzy?"  
  
He sensed her frown and his smiled increased a little.  
  
"I think she knows what she's doing," replied the witch calmly as she walked up beside the cougar mutate. "How is Mal?"  
  
"He's not too bad, considering what happened and all I guess." He closed his eyes. "Thanks for fixing him up. I only know the extreme basics in that department."  
  
"I'd do the same for you.though chances are I might just wrap the bandages just a little tighter."  
  
That earned a small chuckle from Fang. "Mal told me something interesting," he said. "Apparently that daemon Brook summoned turned on him."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yep. Apparently he sent him back to Hell for that. I was thinking Demona might find that useful to know."  
  
Jezebel nodded slowly, her mind lingering on something else. "Do you think we should tell her?"  
  
Clearly Fang was thinking the same thing. "No. Not yet.it drove Brook mad.God knows what it would do to that bitch." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If we really have to tell her.then I think it might be wiser doing it after she'd done this thing. We can't have head lingering when she has to concentrate on something like this."  
  
"She's suspicious already."  
  
"I know, I know," replied Fang sadly. "But we don't need her thinking about that sort of thing, especially if we really can't reach Brook and the only way to save him is to kill him."  
  
They remained silent for quite a while. Staring out ahead of them. The only audible sounds were those of the stream and the birds chirping, which was then shattered when Fang's stomach growled very aggressively when he saw a dear coming out of the forest to have a sip at the stream.  
  
"She's got a heck of a garden," he said quickly, looking a little sheepish.  
  
"Yes.I think it's beside a national park or something like that. Have you had breakfast yet?"  
  
"Uh.no.I just came outta Mal's room about a half hour ago. He was asleep when the sun rose. I just wanted to make sure Brooklyn didn't try that stunt again so I stayed with him."  
  
"That was kind of you. I'll make you some breakfast," said Jezebel as she turned to head back to Demona's imposing gothic mansion. "The two of us will be quite busy tonight if this goes wrong."  
  
Fang said nothing, but continued to stare out at the landscape, a frown on his face.  
  
*****  
  
Dominique Destine sat at the rosewood desk in her study, the notes Elisa had nearly died to bring her spread out before her.  
  
Elisa was in bed in one of the guest rooms, Goliath sitting at her side as a solemn statue.  
  
Lexington, Bronx and Broadway were somewhere in the house, she just didn't know where at the moment. Faith had left to try and get to the nearest Catholic Church possible to have her flamethrower sanctified and be back in time for the ceremony.  
  
She didn't really feel like wearing a business suit today. She did not need to feel uptight today of all days. Instead she wore a pair of black pants and a heavy, woollen jumper the colour of fuchsia with a white T-shirt underneath. She had a pair of small, black shoes on her feet.  
  
They still didn't know what happened to Puck. The news was saying there had been some sort of bombing in a street in Manhattan, that had killed eighteen homeless people, as well as a truck driver and several other people in the nearby area. The President was on the warpath because of it apparently. Saying he'd hunt down the terrorists responsible.  
  
Dominique smiled sadly and shook her head as she remembered the news report. There was a better chance of Hell freezing over first than the President finding those responsible.  
  
She picked up one of the papers and began to examine it closely. As she began to read, it all came back to her, all the times she'd sat in the dark of the night, the Malus Codicium pressed tightly against her chest, its sweet voice talking to her in the darkness, promising her power, vengance and her clan back. She had been chosen and her alone for the task; they had been waiting uncounted millennia for her.  
  
She shook her head quickly. That wasn't her anymore. They'd been lying to her the whole time. Now Brooklyn was being led to believe that only he had been chosen. That damned book had driven him insane as she had once been. But she could stop him, as Macbeth had stopped her once.  
  
She began to make a list of what she would need.  
Demona's estate, Midnight  
  
Faith entered the circular room underneath Demona's German home, prepping her flamethrower and whispering a prayer of fortitude as she did so. Fang, Demona and Jezebel were all there waiting for her.  
  
"You're late," said Demona, clearly irritated. She was dressed in her heavily armoured black body glove; the file of notes under one arm and Brooklyn's old staff in her hand.  
  
She noticed Fang snickering behind Demona and gave him the finger. Jezebel smiled and shut the doors, being sure to lock them and chant a quick spell to make sure they stayed that way.  
  
The quartet approached the altar together to observe what Demona had done.  
  
A pudgy naked man in his late forties lay on the table, dead. His unruly blond hair slowly beginning to turn grey as his maroon coloured eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling, already glazed over. Across his body were chains with talismans attached to them, Daemonic runes engraved upon them.  
  
They had taken one of the bodies they had found in Sudeny, choosing this one as it had only a bullet hole in the forehead, and had yet to be ravaged by the carrion birds and animals that had wandered into the dead town to feast.  
  
Demona had already painted the daemonic runes upon the corpse's belly; chest and forehead in blood that she gotten by the jar full in the town. Several such jars sat on the altar by the side of the corpse.  
  
"Are you all ready?" asked Demona.  
  
The others nodded an affirmative and she began, taking the cap off one of the glass jars and dipping her hand into the thick, cold red liquid inside, taking her arm out then and rubbing her palm along the shaft of the staff, muttering words to herself in a language none of the others knew.  
  
Demona repeated the process until the staff was covered from top to bottom in blood. She then began to chant in the daemon's tongue, sliding slowly to her knees as she did so. The other spaced themselves away from her, ready should this go wrong.  
  
Demona focused only on her words, and the name of the daemon Jezebel had told her.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come through Abaddon's gate."  
  
Her eyes began to glow a fiery red as her body started trembling.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Bypass Cerberus on your way."  
  
The others began to tense, ready should the daemon prove too much for Demona to handle.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come from Lucifer's side."  
  
Far away, in a place and realm of existence that's very existence itself was denied by many, something stirred in its bonds.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Arise from the throne room of Perdition."  
  
Fang's fists crackled with blue electrical energy while Faith let the barrel of her flamethrower. Both praying silently as they did so. Jezebel stood closest to Demona, ready to intervene should the worst come to the worst.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Past the Hell Fire and Sulphur Lakes."  
  
Demona's whole body was shaking violently. The power needed to do this was so much and so very hard to control. It had been a lot easier for Brooklyn from what Fang and Malibu had described. He had the book. He had more time to prepare himself for the trauma.  
  
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. It is your new master who speaks."  
  
It awoke, its bonds shattered, she set it free.  
  
The sheer force of will, which the daemon hit Demona with as it came into the world, staggered her. She actually gasped. She struggled for control, trying to recite the commands of binding.  
  
But the daemon was so strong.  
  
As a strand of bright, blinding white light began to leak from the beaked mouth of the raven atop of Brooklyn's staff, the runes covering it began to glow through the blood.  
  
Demona felt its will, so strong, and fuelled by uncounted millennia of hate pushing her aside. She tried to fight it, tried every fibre in her being, but the daemon was so damn strong.  
  
She tried to scream the words, but they caught in her mouth. Her grip on the staff before her loosened. An immense explosion of white light burst forth from the staff head. The daemon was free.  
  
Demona felt its power, its true, tainted power as it leered at her from above.  
  
~Just my luck. Another fucking gargoyle.~  
  
She blacked out.  
  
*****  
  
Fang yelled a battle cry as he let loose with a blast of electricity at the incorporeal daemon as it descended on Demona.  
  
He rushed forward, continuing his assault.  
  
-Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!-  
  
The daemon roared in pain and flew back away from the group as they advanced on it. Jezebel ran over to Demona, kneeling down quickly and grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly and yelling quite a few graphic swearwords as she did so.  
  
Fang leapt over the altar, his fist blazing in electrical fire as the daemon fell back to the curved wall.  
  
It hissed at him and fired off a bolt of daemonic power. He leapt aside, the force of the blast sending a shower of tiles into the air, while propelling him across the ground and against the wall with great force. He fell to his knees, and then onto his side, moaning weakly but not loosing consciousness. He was sure he cracked a rib or two; he could taste blood in his mouth.  
  
His gaze fell to the other side of the room, where the daemon was, it hovered several meters off the air, its tainted purity lighting up the whole room. He could see it smile triumphantly at him.  
  
~Have we met?~ it asked him casually, as it built up another attack to finish him. ~Just I never forget a face. And you've got one only a drugged up Zoologist could possibly love.~  
  
It roared in agony as flame engulfed it before it could kill him.  
  
"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!" screamed Faith, her flamethrower raining a steady stream of flame on the daemon as she actually ran at it while parts of the room started to burn from her righteous weapon.  
  
The daemon howled and flew out of the stream of flame and fired at her. Faith dived under it, swearing wildly before she was lifted into the air by the force of the blast.  
  
She hit the wall with her back, upside down. There was a very discouraging crack before she bounced off the wall and landed flat on her face. She got up almost immediately, blood seeping from her busted lip, a bruise forming over her right eye.  
  
She roared at the daemon, lifted the flamethrower at it, pulled the trigger.  
  
.and swore at the top of her voice when nothing actually came out of the barrel.  
  
"FUCK!"  
  
She leapt aside as Sin fired at her again; causing another muffled explosion, a rain of debris and the creation of yet another crater on the expensively tile floor.  
  
She rolled to her feet and bolted, checking her weapon as she did so. The barrel and fuel feeder were damaged from crashing into the wall.  
  
"FUCK!"  
  
She began leaping from side to side, dodging various attacks from Sin as she fumbled with the straps holding the fuel tank to her back. "Trust the fucking rich to spend money on the cheap fucking crap!"  
  
Jezebel was suddenly standing, Brooklyn's staff in her hands, the raven end aimed at the daemon.  
  
"FULMINOUS VINITE!"  
  
The staff erupted in amber flame, before a blast of lightning flew from the head, narrowly missing the daemon and blowing a huge chunk off the wall, while the ground shook ever so slightly. Jezebel was actually lifted off her feet by the force of her attack and went skidding across the floor to near where Fang was lying half conscious.  
  
She looked at the staff in shock for a moment before her eyes lit up and a nasty grin crossed her face. She braced herself against the wall and unleashed another blast at the daemon, which dodged it again, while the air was filled with bits of flying brick.  
  
"You'll bring the house down Jezzy," coughed Fang weakly as he tried to sit up. "Be careful."  
  
Jezebel nodded, keeping her eyes on the daemon. It had stopped chasing Faith and was now staring at her venomously.  
  
~I remember you,~ it said coldly. ~You're that old bitch that shocked me.~ It smiled. ~I'm going to enjoy this.~  
  
Jezebel smiled at the daemon, taunting it. "Fuck. You."  
  
The daemon roared in rage at her and hurled an especially large energy blast.  
  
Jezebel clasped the staff firmly in her hands before her. "Deflectere!"  
  
A shield of amber light formed between her, Fang and the daemon's attack. The blast bounced roughly off the shield and hit the ceiling. The was a deafening explosion before large chunks of brick and masonry rained down on the group, which was then followed by some wrecked furniture and a burning PC, which fell down the hole made in the ceiling and exploded on the ground.  
  
Jezebel looked up at the hole. "Whoops."  
  
"I knew you were fucking going senile!" coughed Fang behind her as he managed to stand at last, his back leaning against the wall, his legs unsteady, his head spinning.  
  
They heard the daemon cackle madly at them.  
  
~Is that the best you've got?~ it laughed.  
  
"DAEMON!"  
  
Sin turned its attention to Faith, just in time to see the tanks of her flamethrower flying towards it. Faith dived behind the altar beside Demona while Jezebel quickly called up her shield again as the tanks came into contact with the incorporeal form of the daemon and detonated.  
  
The explosion was deafening, the entire room shook violently for several seconds as flame spread across the floor, walls and even ceiling. The heat caused was intense.  
  
Jezebel's shield died down and she looked at the carnage around her. Most of the floor was on fire and the smoke made it difficult to see anything. She could hear Fang coughing uncontrollably behind her and risked a glance to look.  
  
He had fallen on his side and was doubled over again, coughing badly, she could see blood coming out of his ears and nose and assumed the same could be said of her at that moment. She slipped her wool long coat off, kneeling beside him as she did so. She pressed it hard against his mouth.  
  
"Breath into this!" she yelled quickly, tearing a section off for herself and looking warily around for the daemon. Fang nodded weakly and covered his mouth with her red wool coat, his breathing becoming slightly more normal after several deep breaths.  
  
The old lady quickly stood and looked around. "Demona! Faith!"  
  
"Here!" coughed Faith, standing unsteadily; shoving the naked, burning corpse she had pulled from the altar to shield both herself and Demona. She looked around, swaying slightly. "Where's the daemon?"  
  
"Are you insane!" coughed Fang behind Jezebel, still lying on his side.  
  
"Shut up you walking rug!" screamed Faith, swinging her arms wildly, her hair was singed in places and was actually smoking. "Where the Hell's the daemon gone?"  
  
Jezebel could barely hear her over the flames. She stretched out her free hand and a path opened up from her to Faith and Demona. "I think we stunned it. We must be quick!" she said advancing through the gap in the flames, leaving Fang on the ground and running over to the pair beside the altar. She looked at the heavily burned rear end of the corpse. "Will that actually hold it?"  
  
"Don't worry," said Faith confidently, she kicked it quite hard and it rolled over on its back, revealing the pale front of the corpse, whose open eyes seemed to be staring at them in an irritated fashion. "I remembered we needed the runes on it."  
  
There was unearthly roar from somewhere in the room as the ground began to shake.  
  
Faith and Jezebel looked up at the ceiling as it began to crack. "Oh shit."  
  
Jezebel was on her knees in an instant, grabbing Demona by her shoulders and shaking her very roughly. "WAKE UP!"  
  
"Allow me," said Faith, lifting her foot and driving it down into Demona's stomach. "Wake up cheapskate!"  
  
Demona doubled up as Faith knocked the wind out of her, her eyes looking as if they would bulge out of their sockets as she began to cough and moan in agony.  
  
Jezebel smiled and made a mental note to buy Faith lunch for that.  
  
"What happened?" coughed Demona, her arms wrapped protectively over her stomach as she looked from the old lady to the Inquisitor.  
  
"Why the Hell do they always ask that?" said Faith. She looked down at Demona. "You screwed up. Big time,"  
  
Demona was on her feet in an instant, grabbing the staff off Jezebel roughly and looking wildly around her. "The daemon! Where is it?"  
  
As if to answer her there was an unearthly snarl several meters behind the trio, on the other side of the altar. They turned quickly to see the daemon, the malevolent light it produced had dimmed considerably and they could make out its nightmarish true form. It was shaking as it hung several feet above the ground, its glowing eyes the colour of blood and screaming bloody murder.  
  
~I am going to kill each of you, very, very slowly.~  
  
It roared and hurled a daemonic blast at them. They all leapt in different directions as the blast hit the altar, blowing it up and sending fist sized chunks of rock flying in all directions.  
  
Faith swore viciously as a chunk hit her on the back of her right shoulder and fell to the ground, gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes tightly against the pain. Jezebel skidded across the ground, along the path the she had made in the fire until she almost crashed into Fang. She got up, her face bleeding, bruised and slightly burned. Demona was hurled up into the air and crash-landed on top of the corpse she had intended to trap the daemon in, still holding onto the staff and tasting blood in her mouth, dismally noting that she'd bitten her tongue.  
  
She got on her knees and looked around as Jezebel chanted at the top of her voice as she held her hands open before her in the daemon's direction. The flames below it rose and circled the hovering daemon, before rising up above it and closing in all around it in a column of fire.  
  
As the daemon roared in agony Demona saw her chance. Pressing her left hand on the chest of the corpse, she pointed the staff at it with her right, feeling it amplify her powers to an extraordinary degree as she began to chant the incantation quickly. Her eyes glowed the colour of fire.  
  
The column of fire died out suddenly as the daemon within roared, it tainted light becoming almost blinding. ~I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU!~  
  
"In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast and forever into this host!"  
  
The daemon halted suddenly, screaming wildly as it was dragged into the chest of the chained corpse.  
  
Demona slumped forward on the body, dropping her staff and taking huge gasps of air as she tried to calm herself. She heard coughing and looked over to see Jezebel.  
  
The old witch was on her knees, shoulders drooped, her frilled white blouse blackened from the flames and speckled with blood. Fang was lying behind her, unconscious from the looks of it. She coughed again and Demona only then noticed all the smoke in the air. The old lady looked up at her, her kind, wrinkled face bruised and cut in several places. She smiled at her. "Lets never do that again okay?"  
  
Demona chuckled and smiled at her. She looked down into the dead eyes of the daemonhost.  
  
"Well?" she snapped impatiently.  
  
~What is it you want.Master?~ Demona noted how its psychic voice had become a lot more passive, but she could still feel the hate lingering there.  
  
"Do you have a name other than your true one?"  
  
~Yes Master.my last Master addressed me as Sin.~  
  
"That'll do," muttered Demona. She leaned closer until her face was a few inches from the host's. "Do you know where Brooklyn is going?"  
  
~Yes Master.~  
  
"Will you tell me?"  
  
The daemonhost smiled at her, quite an unnerving sight. ~Why do you wish to know?~  
  
"I'm going to stop him."  
  
Its smile grew. ~In that case Master, I'll gladly show you.~  
Dresden, Germany  
  
Furcifer leant against the wall, his arms crossed before him, frowning.  
  
"I understand. Now get out of my face."  
  
In a corner of the alley he stood in, a shadow faded out of existence.  
  
Furcifer stopped leaning against the wall and walked slowly down the alley into the crowd, arms behind his back. He stopped when he was close to several shops and observed people entering and exiting them by the dozen and his face contorted in disgust.  
  
He changed direction and started for the city's main bus station, intent on getting a ticket for the first bus to St. Petersburg.  
  
To be continued. 


	15. Frustration

Frustration  
  
Author: Darkness  
  
E-mail: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Author's note: The farther I go into writing this saga the more and more I begin to realise that I have not given Dan Abnett enough credit by far. I shall deal with that mistake now and hope I can be forgiven without the necessity for lawyers, as I don't have nearly enough cash to make me worth being taken to court.  
  
Those of you who have actually been reading this silly little saga of mine from the beginning have been reading a crossover really, although I haven't fully appreciated it until this current moment. It started with the Malus Codicium and the daemonhosts that are, as far as I am aware, are part of the imagination of the author Dan Abnett, while the rules concerning daemons, their ranks and their binding come from the Warhammer universe. Their influence may become more apparent as time and chapters goes by, I thought it only fair to you the reader and to the above mentioned to mention this.  
  
I do not own their work; neither do I do this to make profit of any sort.  
  
An extra disclaimer is added at the bottom of this fic, as I do not want it up here as it may ruin part of the fic for any 40K enthusiasts out there who read my rubbish.  
  
And now please enjoy. (  
  
Avalon  
  
"But why wasn't I informed of this?" yelled Queen Titania. She was standing in her private anti-chamber, a magnificently decorated circular room containing her mirror, beside a bed that she never used while a tapestry of the finest Chinese silk from the Warring States Period adorned part of the wall, some ornately carved wooden furniture that had once belonged to the Celtic Queen Mauve sat in the centre of the room, a square table and four chairs while the King of the Third Race stood by the panelled mahogany door he had entered only moments before.  
  
"Hush My darling," replied Oberon softly. "You were not informed because we did not think it worth your attention." He smiled, taking a seat without asking. "And besides...you never asked."  
  
She frowned at him. "You interfered in mortal affairs yet again."  
  
"We are aware of that."  
  
"You broke your own law."  
  
"As it is our law, my Lady, it does not apply to us," replied Oberon, the slightest hint of ice creeping into his voice. "We are Lord of Avalon and Master of the Fey. We decide when a law has been broken or not."  
  
"A good leader should always place themselves under their own laws."  
  
Oberon smiled at his wife in a very superior manner. "Ah yes. Your referring to mortal leaders aren't you?"  
  
"Some of them," replied Titania, folding her arms in front of her and giving her Lord a dirty look. "What you are doing is wrong. If Demona was supposed to die at that time then even you had no right to drag her back."  
  
"Perhaps, but the Wyrd Sisters insist that her part in the world is not yet at its end."  
  
"Of course. Whatever your little attack dogs want, they get."  
  
It was Oberon's turn to frown now. "Do not speak of them in such a manner My Lady. They are some of our most faithful children."  
  
"They're also the most out of control."  
  
"What are you suggesting?"  
  
"You let them have their way all the time. They are the only ones of your children that you allow to pass between Avalon and the mortal world at will, which only causes resentment among your other children."  
  
"As long as they do what they are told to, we do not care what it is they think."  
  
"Another thing, which is undoubtedly a cause of dislike for you."  
  
Oberon stood suddenly, knocking his chair back as he glared dangerously at his wife. "We do not have to stay here and listen to this!"  
  
"I am only trying to suggest that what you did with Demona and the way you have begun to behave as of late is worrisome."  
  
"We are the King! We have the power!"  
  
"And are fast casting aside the responsibility, which comes with it."  
  
The temperature in the room seemed to drop drastically as Oberon and his wife stared at each other, neither prepared to back down.  
  
"The Sisters are my servants and my children," whispered Oberon, his voice laced with venom and ice now in equal measure. "What I do concerning them is no business of the Court of Avalon, of the Mortal Guards and of you, Titania."  
  
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving his Queen staring after his departure, her lip and clenched fists trembling.  
  
"Then it is as I suspected," she muttered.  
  
She walked over to a small writing desk sitting below the tapestry and took out a pen, three sheets of paper, envelopes and wrote a few lines on each before sealing them with wax from a candle and imprinting her personal seal from her ring on them. She then looked at her mirror and whispered one word.  
  
"Hector."  
  
The glass shimmered as if it were liquid before her reflection then altered to the image a fairly unremarkable male gargoyle that was standing looking out over the Western bulwark. He was very thin and weakly built unlike most of his rookery siblings. His skin was the same grey as the stones of the fortress while he sported a small straight beak, a neatly cut crop of greasy chestnut brown hair, a set of webbed ears and short pair of curved horns jutting outwards from his forehead. His wings sat on his back with hooked endings like most gargoyles, while he looked out on the world through an unintelligent pair of copper coloured eyes. He was dressed in a shabby brown loincloth with a very thick black belt, on which hung an archer's dagger.  
  
"Hector," repeated the Lady Titania.  
  
The gargoyle seemed to jump out of whatever trance he was in, as he looked around suspiciously before whispering back immediately to the air.  
  
"Yes? What is it that my lady wants?"  
  
"I require your presence in my chamber immediately. Be discreet in your coming."  
  
The image faded as the gargoyle seemed to smile to himself in excitement before heading downstairs.  
  
In a matter of moments, he had arrived at the door and let himself in quietly.  
  
"What is it that my lady wishes of her humble servant?" He asked immediately, forgoing the courtesy of even bowing to her.  
  
But Titania needed him at this moment, so she ignored it. She held out the three letters to the gargoyle who took them warily and looked at the names written on each envelope.  
  
"You remember these three Hector?"  
  
"Of course my lady. They are all well etched in my memory. But all three at once?"  
  
"This is urgent. Go about it as you would usually, but take extra care tonight. I suspect that even the walls may now have ears and eyes."  
  
Titania went to the door and opened it quickly so that Hector could leave at once, but the gargoyle didn't move. Instead, he turned to face Titania.  
  
"Forgive me my lady," he whispered, he appeared anxious. "But I have never had to carry out so many errands of yours at once and I have noticed of late that, well, some of the court...some are taking an interest in my activities...if any other, than those that these are intended for, should find these on me... "  
  
He stopped, as Titania shut the door silently while maintaining a slightly frustrated gaze at him. She moved silently towards him and grabbed his beak suddenly in her right hand. Before Hector could even raise a hand in protest, his entire body went rigid; the letters fell out of his hand and to the floor while he began to sweat profusely as his entire body began to tremble.  
  
He let out a barely audible moan of indescribable ecstasy as Titania activated all his pleasure centres.  
  
"I am aware of the potential danger to you my servant," whispered Titania as Hector let out another moan. "And I shall reward you for this task in greater quantity than usual."  
  
She let go of him and took a step back, to avoid touching him again, as he collapsed to his knees and fell forward, his entire body shaking and glistening with sweat as he tried to regain control of his breathing and composure.  
  
Titania went to the door and waited a few minutes for her servant to calm himself before letting him out. She shut the door quickly and went to the writing desk where a small bowl of water, a bar of soap and a towel had appeared as if out of thin air.  
  
She washed her right hand vigorously, her face revealing the utter contempt for the nothing that had just left her presence.  
  
Hector was a loner when she had first spotted him and had always been one, not by his own choice, but by that of the rest of his siblings. He was weak and was held with contempt by all those around him who preferred to ignore his presence when he was near, which made him perfect as an errand boy for her.  
  
Few noticed him, and even fewer cared.  
  
After several minutes of waiting, there was a knock at her door and presently the first of her three guests entered.  
  
"Tom," said Titania, in a manner to suggest friendliness. "Please, sit down."  
  
The old human warrior regarded her suspiciously with his unusual eyes, one sky blue and the other, chocolate brown. He bowed to her courteously and sat down without a word, dressed in a dark purple tunic and grey tights while his iron longsword hung in its scabbard by a brown leather belt around his waist by his side.  
  
A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed by before Titania's other two guests arrived separately, followed barely a minute later by Hector who had taken another route after delivering the letters.  
  
The four sat around the table while Hector brought them some wine that had materialised on the writing desk and then kept watch at the door for eavesdroppers. Titania made a point of sitting opposite the old human, his iron sword and the dagger he thought that she didn't know he had up his sleeve.  
  
She looked at her two other guests, Anubis and Yuri Mao.  
  
Anubis sat to the Queen's left while Yuri sat to her right. She glanced at the Eastern Fey.  
  
Yuri Mao was quite tall and had the appearance of a woman of the Orient, most likely Japan or China. She was remarkably beautiful, with a pair of stunning Arctic blue eyes and velvet black hair that seemed to shimmer in the light of the room, which she had tied into a tight bun, kept in place by several long Japanese hairpins. Her face was heavily adorned with paper white make up and lipstick the colour of a winter rose, resting upon deceitfully kind lips. Her eyelashes were unusually long; nearly taking attention away from the cherry blossom pink eye shadow she had applied, while her stunningly well-kept body sat rigidly in her chair. She looked at Anubis and nodded to the Fey courteously before regarding the human Tom with deep disdain that the human returned in kind. She was dressed in an all-concealing red silk kimono that had white trimmings with a pair of Chinese Dragons, one black and one white, fighting each other all along the robe. She wore a pair of black Japanese wooden sandals. Her hands were strong yet delicate, the same applied shade of white that her face was, with blood red nail polish covering her long, blade like nails, both hands sat on her lap, holding a pink and black foldable fan. A girdle of silk, the colour of jade was wrapped around her waist. Within it lay Yuri's magnificently decorated Wakizashi shortsword.  
  
Titania smiled as she looked on Yuri, briefly wondering what sort of poison the Fey had applied to her lipstick, hairpins and nail varnish before addressing her guests.  
  
"Before we begin, allow me to apologise for dragging you all away from your duties, as well as calling you all here at once. But as of late my husband's actions are becoming a cause for concern." She turned to look at Anubis. "My Lord here recently brought to my attention one such act of several that I am aware of." Anubis nodded and then Titania asked him to describe what he was ordered to do to Demona and another gargoyle named Brooklyn. Yuri feigned interest while Tom looked quite concerned at what had happened.  
  
"That's abominable," he muttered. "That Demona attacked and wounded many of my clan."  
  
"I thought she was under a spell," asked Yuri.  
  
"It doesn't matter," retorted Tom. "From what Goliath told me, she was a relentless killer before. People like her deserve no mercy."  
  
"She had repented though," replied Titania. "Although this is not the reason the Sisters wanted her returned to life."  
  
"The Sisters have been having their way around here too often," growled Tom.  
  
"Oh not this again!" Groaned Yuri.  
  
Tom glared dangerously at her. "You may not care, but it matters to me!" He nearly screamed. "They murdered Aaron! For the same reason I dare say that they did this! They're sadists!"  
  
Titania sighed. Aaron was one of the gargoyles that had been raised by Tom, the Magus and Princess Katherine. Some time ago, his body had been found in the woods stripped and nailed down spread eagled to an altar. He had been beaten and raped repeatedly before his head had been pulped.  
  
Everyone who cared knew it had been the Wyrd Sisters, but Oberon made a decree that the Sisters had not done it and it was never to be spoken of again and that was the end of it.  
  
"My Lady," spoke Anubis. "You are closest to our Lord. Why does he allow the Sisters such amnesty?"  
  
"Aye," said Tom, slightly calmer now. He folding his arms and glared at Titania. "Do they have some sort of spell over him?"  
  
Titania sighed. "They do. But it is not a spell of magic." She looked down into her wine. "I have held suspicions for some time, but only very recently I felt that I am now certain that the Sisters have been providing my Lord with...services."  
  
Tom raised an eyebrow while Yuri turned and stared at Titania in total shock.  
  
"What kind of services?" Asked Anubis.  
  
"Services of the loins," replied Titania.  
  
Tom and Anubis stared at her, too shocked to say anything, while Yuri snapped her fan under the table with trembling hands.  
  
Titania heard it, though she said nothing, but felt a little sympathy for her.  
  
Yuri was Oberon's concubine.  
  
"They are becoming dangerous," said Titania eventually. "And I dare say it was they who prohibited any sort of sortie to the mortal world since the gathering."  
  
"Why do you have these gatherings anyway?" Asked Tom. "I've been wondering for a while now, but I never really thought to ask."  
  
"Why human?" Said Yuri, her voice low and venomous. "I'll tell you why."  
  
"Yuri," said Titania, hoping to silence her but failing when Yuri stood upright suddenly, knocking her chair back and yelling, regardless of the need for quiet.  
  
"He's a bastard! A base, self-obsessed, lying, hypocritical, ego-maniacal bastard!" She screamed, her entire being quivering in rage.  
  
"Yuri! I will not have my husband spoken of in such a manner!" Yelled Titania, as she stood and glared daggers at Yuri.  
  
But Yuri refused to be silenced.  
  
"He doesn't care about us! His only use for us is to give his ego a boost! That's why we're here! He demanded we come! So that we can bow and quiver in his presence and give him whatever the Hell it is he wants! And when he grows weary of us praising him like some god, he kicks us out and bars us from returning to the island until his head needs to be pumped with air again!"  
  
Yuri would have continued, but Titania reached over the table and slapped her quite hard across her face.  
  
"Silence!" Screamed the Queen of the Third Race. Yuri Mao took a step back from the blow and gave Titania a look that could kill. She calmed down quickly though, her face becoming the very image of shame. She bowed low.  
  
"Forgive me my Queen," she said as she straightened up. "I...this just came as a shock to me...that is all." She looked Titania in the eye. "I love my Lord. I love him so much that...well...to hear of someone else usurping me for their own gain and not for love...it pains me."  
  
Titania nodded. There was a lie in there somewhere, but that really didn't matter to her right now. She needed Yuri.  
  
"All is forgiven." Titania looked to the others who had remained seated during the exchange. "I have tasks for all of you."  
  
She spoke to Tom first.  
  
"Tom. I want you and your guards to be ready to leave at a moments notice for the mountains on the East of the island."  
  
Tom eyed her suspiciously. "Why?"  
  
"Oberon's most recent decree, that concerning the gargoyles Demona and Brooklyn Wyvern. It has undoubtedly caused much resentment in at least one of them. They may come looking for revenge."  
  
"Then we'll fight them."  
  
"No. They live in a world where technology can cause just as much catastrophic damage as magic can...even more in some cases. I want your clan ready to get away if one does come, and they wield such a weapon."  
  
Tom nodded grudgingly as he stood up. "As you wish my Lady."  
  
Titania dismissed him and the human left, taking a moment to look at Hector. His hands were shaking ever so slightly, while Hector had lost at least ten pounds since he had become Titania's lackey. Hector glared at him, but said nothing. Tom shook his head sadly and went away.  
  
Titania then turned to look on the two Fey.  
  
"I want the two of you to go to the mortal world," she said. "I haven't heard from Puck. He reports to me every hour of my grandson's progress with his magic. I have yet to hear from him and he is never late."  
  
Yuri and Anubis cast a glance at each other as the Queen continued.  
  
"I have tried to contact him, but all my attempts have resulted in failure." She frowned. "Even my mirror cannot locate him. I fear some peril has beset him." She looked at the pair. "Find him. Find out what he's up to. I shall make sure no one knows of your absence. However, I advise you to only use your powers sparingly, I am not the only one at the court that has eyes and ears in the world these days."  
  
The pair nodded and left silently.  
  
As they did so, Hector came in, rubbing his hands giddily and shaking in excitement.  
  
"Has my lady finished her business for tonight?" He asked eagerly.  
  
Titania nodded and gestured for him to lie on the bed, taking a moment when his back was turned to look him over in disgust. But as disgusting as the thought of this nothing was, he knew too much of her business now. The only way to ensure his loyalty was to keep him addicted to the pleasures only she and her magic could grant him. She checked outside for any potential eavesdroppers before locking the door.  
  
"I love you my lady."  
  
But he was getting a little too cocky these days.  
  
Titania did not reply, but instead set about rewarding her dislikeable, pleasure addicted servant. As he lay on her bed, sleeping after he had passed out from exhaustion, her eyes narrowed as she came to a conclusion.  
  
Hector knew too much now and Tom had noticed the way he was acting. If word leaked to the Sisters then they too might start offering Hector similar rewards to learn her plans. There was only one definite solution to this problem.  
  
She'd have to kill Hector soon.  
  
Demona's Estate in Southern Germany  
  
Faith knocked gently on the door before she opened it a crack and stuck her head in.  
  
"Mal?"  
  
The pale green gargoyle looked up from the book he was reading and gave Faith a friendly smile. He was stripped to the waist, revealing the bandages over his chest, shoulder and belly while the bandage had covered the cuts he had gotten on his right cheek had been removed, revealing three deep scars that actually creased the skin. He was propped into a sitting position with some extra pillows behind his back while he was holding a very thick book in his clawed hands. "Hey Faith. Come in, please."  
  
Faith smiled and came in, dressed in a camouflage green blouse, her black boots and a pair of black combat slacks, but stopped when she saw Fang. The cougar mutate was lying on a couch that was opposite the bed and right beside the door. He had an old pair of navy jeans on and a faded grey T- shirt that might have been black once and had propped a few cushions to one side of the couch to use as a pillow for his head. There were a few light blankets pulled over him.  
  
She turned her head to say something, but Mal put a finger to his mouth to silence her. "Ssssh, he was like that when I came out of stone sleep. I didn't even wake him, he's that out of it," he whispered. "Jezebel came in to clean up the bits of rock and put the blankets over him. Please don't wake him. He looks like he needs the sleep."  
  
"One of the reasons I came in was to see if you knew where he was," replied Faith, whispering also. "I went to the room where we put him in after we bound the daemon. I got a few hours rest and when I came to check on him he was gone."  
  
"He was in here the whole time then."  
  
Faith nodded and crossed over to sit by the wooden chair beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Not bad. A lot better than I felt yesterday. The flesh wounds are pretty much healed now, cept the burns on my leg and stomach. Oh and the broken bones too." He stopped. "Where's the daemon anyway?"  
  
"It's in another of Demona's rooms underground. She's interrogating it with Jezebel and I think Lexington and Broadway went down there with them too, to watch."  
  
"Don't you think you should be down there with them? I mean, you being an Inquisitor and all."  
  
"No. I don't think I could look at a thing like that again for a little while yet. Besides, I'm sure Jezebel and Demona can handle it in the unlikely event of it getting loose."  
  
Mal nodded. He looked worried about something and seemed to whisper under his breath. To Faith it sounded like: "I wonder if she knows yet." But it could easily have been something else. It had been barely audible.  
  
There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence then. Faith looked down at the book in the gargoyle's hands. "What are you reading?"  
  
"The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer."  
  
"I never read that. Is it any good?"  
  
Mal grinned, he seemed quite happy to be distracted from whatever it was that had him worried. "It's garbage." He said instantly. Faith had to suppress a chuckle, but Mal continued. "It's...just utter, complete crap. I read this and all I really see is this arrogant prat showing off. I can't understand how so many people say this is classic sort of stuff." Faith smiled and Mal smiled back at her, glad that he could talk to someone. "So...Jezebel said you were helping them bind that daemon?"  
  
"Yes. I did help."  
  
"She told me a bit of what happened. She said you were, uh...well..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well the words, 'bloody insane' were used more than once."  
  
"Well..."  
  
"And apparently you went like that after it looked like Fang was gonna get hurt."  
  
Faith shifted uncomfortably in her chair before speaking. "Well, I didn't want to see him get killed or anything, that's all."  
  
"Thanks for looking out for him Faith. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been around to listen." He tilted his head slightly, looking her over. "You know. You're not exactly what I would have expected for some sort of holy assassin."  
  
Faith raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You don't seem like some real cold blooded killer, that's all."  
  
"Oh I can be cold blooded, don't you worry. I can be very cold if I need to be to get the job done."  
  
Mal seemed to think this over. "Do you ever...have any regrets?"  
  
"Of course I have regrets, about a lot of things actually, including having to kill some of the people I've had too. But, the people I have to kill... well, they're always dangerous, even if some of them don't realise it at the time."  
  
"Dangerous to who, exactly?"  
  
Faith's smile vanished and she rose from her chair. "Are you trying to interrogate me or something?" She snapped, suddenly on the defensive.  
  
"No!" Said Mal quickly, raising his hands. "I was just a little curious, that's all."  
  
Faith's anger seemed to subside quickly; she put a hand over her face and sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "I'm sorry. I'm still a little tired."  
  
"Maybe you should get a little more rest then."  
  
Faith nodded and looked over to where Fang lay, still sleeping soundly. "Look at him, peaceful as a child." She smiled mischievously suddenly and turned to look at Malibu again. "Did you know he was a Goth?"  
  
Mal stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. He looked over at Fang and then back to her. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah. Both of us were."  
  
"He left that little detail out."  
  
"Well he would wouldn't he? He left me out."  
  
"Well I didn't really expect him to tell me every detail of his life..." Mal paused suddenly. "Is that how you two met? At some Goth club?"  
  
"Not exactly," replied Faith. "There was this...thing, happening in this graveyard and...well that's where we...bumped, into each other really." She seemed very embarrassed all of a sudden, so Mal decided to change the subject.  
  
"Got any good stories about him and you?"  
  
Faith smiled gratefully at him. "Yes. I've got a few."  
  
"Any of them embarrassing?"  
  
"The best ones are."  
  
Malibu grinned evilly. "Do tell."  
  
*****  
  
Lexington hung back with Broadway as Demona and Jezebel interrogated the daemonhost that called itself Sin.  
  
The quartet was in a dark circular room, much smaller than the one that had been wrecked during Demona's summoning of the entity. The daemonhost hovered several feet from the ground, held from rising up any further by a chain with heavy manacles on the end attached to the host's ankles while the other was securely fastened to the floor. The host's arms were also secured by chains coming from the walls while its body had even more chains criss-crossing its abdomen and legs, upon which hung numerous padlocks, talismans and other various items, all engraved with runes that actually hurt the two young gargoyles' eyes to look at.  
  
Demona hadn't said a word to either of them. In fact, Broadway was actually having doubts that she even knew they were present. She had come in with a very far off look on her face, as if she was in a dream while awake. Jezebel had clearly noticed, but seemed to be deliberately not paying attention to her. They'd been in there ten minutes and she hadn't even looked her in the face yet.  
  
There was an odd smell in the air, like the one that had been present in the van the night Malibu was attacked, like some sort of spice, strong and very sharp. The air was thick with it.  
  
They'd asked Jezebel if they could come and watch the interrogation of the daemonhost, the old lady had smiled kindly and said that they could, providing they stayed quiet and reported immediately if the daemon said anything to either of them that no one else might hear.  
  
Broadway liked Jezebel a great deal. There was just something about the old lady that made her hard not to like. Even if she had pointed a shotgun at his father in law, he doubted now that she would have actually shot him.  
  
She was still holding that staff Brooklyn had ordered made, and then left after he'd obviously found something better. He'd seen her carry it out of the blazing room after she; Demona, Faith and Fang had summoned and trapped the daemon to the corpse that was hovering off the floor before them.  
  
Broadway frowned as he looked at the witch from behind.  
  
There hadn't been a moment since then that he hadn't seen her without that staff. The runes on it were daemonic apparently, somewhat like the ones holding Sin in its host body. While he couldn't look at them without feeling a stinging sensation at the back of his eyes, he'd actually caught Jezebel staring at them once while she was in the kitchen, tracing the outlines of the runes with her fingers and looking at them in an almost dazed state.  
  
He'd knocked the door after a few seconds of watching her and she snapped out of it instantly and starting talking as if nothing had happened. He decided that he had better keep an eye on her from then on.  
  
That was one reason why he was here.  
  
There was another...but he couldn't for the life of him guess what it was.  
  
He had just felt that when Demona and Jezebel had started their interview, he just had to be here. What stunned him was that Lexington was feeling the exact same way. Neither of them could explain it, but both felt drawn somehow to the daemon, which in truth was a little worrying.  
  
The second he and Lex had come in here, they could feel the malevolence of the entity. Broadway had wanted to turn and leave right then, though he didn't say so.  
  
But then he got that feeling that he had to stay. Something was going to be said or something was going to happen that he had to be present for.  
  
He didn't have to ask Lex to know his rookery brother felt the same way.  
  
"Where will he go?" Asked Jezebel.  
  
The daemonhost looked at her coldly while Broadway suddenly felt a cold feeling at the back of head for the briefest instant.  
  
Lexington obviously felt it too.  
  
"What the Hell was that?" He whispered to his larger brother. Lex had seemed to be following Demona's example and had started wearing clothing of a sort, a black bodyglove specially tailored so that his webbed wings hung out and could still be used. Broadway still preferred his loincloth.  
  
"I think that's the daemon inside talking."  
  
"Telepathy?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
Jezebel seemed to consider whatever it was the daemonhost said for a moment before looking back at Sin. Demona hadn't moved yet, she seemed to be staring ahead of herself to some undefined point.  
  
"What's there that he wants?"  
  
Another cold feeling at the back of Broadway's head.  
  
"What can it do?"  
  
That feeling again.  
  
"My God."  
  
The interview continued for a little while longer, without Broadway and Lexington once hearing the daemon's voice, being only aware of when it spoke, and sometimes even of the tone it took.  
  
And then suddenly Demona seemed to come out of her trance.  
  
Very slowly, she turned her head to look at Jezebel and said, with her voice remarkably controlled:  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Jezebel stopped her questioning of Sin and looked over at the azure gargess. "What?"  
  
"I asked you why you didn't tell me."  
  
"Tell you what?"  
  
Demona's eyes flared hellish red as she glared at the witch and took several threatening steps towards her.  
  
"Don't toy with me human!" she nearly screamed. "While we were binding that abomination, I bit my tongue! I also got quite a few bruises, burns and cuts! When I went to take care of them they were gone! Just the slightest traces left on my skin! Where did they go witch? Why didn't you tell me?!"  
  
"Demona...I...I thought that maybe it might have been better-"  
  
"Better? Exactly who would it have been better for witch?" Hissed Demona, as she stalked towards Jezebel. Broadway was suddenly all too aware of the various weapons hanging from Demona's black armoured bodyglove.  
  
"Is that the second reason Jezebel? You wanted me along so that I could kill him? Is that why I'm here?"  
  
"A last resort Demona. We were going to tell you-"  
  
"WHEN? When I was dying? Were you going to explain all the basics while I was gasping for breath as I lay in a pool of my own blood? Or was I going to have to figure it out for myself if we got to Brooklyn without the need for violence as I watched my clan grow old and die around me? You had no intention of telling me the truth did you? I'm surprised you could think of anything so underhanded, at least Macbeth was a man of honour!"  
  
"How dare you even speak his name!" Screamed Macbeth's old servant. Her eyes began to blaze in amber flame as the staff in her hands started to shudder menacingly. "You're the cause of it all you hellish bitch!"  
  
Demona growled wickedly, reaching over her back to pull her combat shotgun from its sheath.  
  
Broadway started forward. If he didn't intervene now then blood was going to be spilt. As Demona pulled her weapon from its sheath, racking it as she did so and Jezebel began chanting something under her breath, Broadway stepped in between them.  
  
"Are you both frigging nuts?" He yelled. He looked Demona in the eye. "What the Hell are you talking about? And why's it worth killing each other?"  
  
Demona looked at him, as if noticing him for the first time. Her eyes flared down and her mouth opened and closed for a brief second before she recovered from the surprise. She slowly lowered the shotgun till the barrel was pointed at the floor. Her face softened as she looked at her son-in- law.  
  
"I'm sorry Broadway...but..."  
  
She stared at him, that far off look entering her features again. Broadway put his hand on her shoulder gently, hoping to try and bring back into this world. The contact seemed to snap Demona out of her trance, she looked down at his hand for a few moments and then slowly up to look him in the face. Broadway could see something very serious was wrong instantly.  
  
"Demona? Demona what's the matter?" He asked, genuinely concerned. Ever since she'd been allowed back into the clan, his dislike of her had died down rapidly and she'd even saved his life once. He found himself liking and respecting her as much as he once had back before the massacre at Wyvern.  
  
Demona looked up into his turquoise eyes, her own eyes, a shade of deep sea green, were in anguish. She looked him over, and then her expression changed completely. Her lip quivered ever so slightly while her eyes held fear, as if she had just come to some horrifying realisation. She looked from him to where he guessed Lexington was standing behind him, and then past that to Jezebel.  
  
She took a step back out from his hand, towards the door.  
  
"Demona?"  
  
Demona shook her head and took several more steps back.  
  
"I...I...can't..."she whispered, fighting tears. "Not again..."  
  
She turned quickly and strode rapidly to the door, pulling it open and slamming it behind her.  
  
"Demona!" Yelled Jezebel, quickly brushing past Broadway and rushing to the door. "Demona I'm sorry!"  
  
He stared after the departing woman, more than a little worried.  
  
"What the heck was that all about?" Asked Lex. He had moved up beside him, as he had been staring after Demona's retreat.  
  
"I... I don't know," replied Broadway, still looking at the closed door. "But I think we'd better make sure she's okay."  
  
"She looked really upset."  
  
"I know. And whatever Jezebel didn't tell her, it's obviously big."  
  
They both headed towards the door quickly, not paying any heed to the chained daemonhost, which was regarding them with something as close to recognition as you could find on the face of a corpse.  
  
~Broadway Wyvern.~  
  
Broadway stopped dead in his tracks, a few meters from the door. He had heard that hadn't he?  
  
~Don't be so fast to leave my young friend.~  
  
The voice was almost warm, friendly even. That seemed to make this even more unnerving somehow. Broadway knew it was the daemonhost Sin talking to him in his head.  
  
~I think you and I should have a little chat.~  
  
The aquamarine gargoyle turned his head slightly so that he could see the daemonhost out of the corner of his eye. He regarded it suspiciously. He opened his mouth to say something, but then, worrying that Lex might not hear the daemonhost and start thinking he was talking to himself, he simply thought a response, correctly guessing that the daemon would hear him.  
  
-What do you want?-  
  
~Just to tell you of a few things.~ Replied the captive daemonhost.  
  
Broadway frowned. –Such as?-  
  
He could feel the daemon smile at the back of his head. ~Your future...if you're interested that is.~  
  
Broadway's frown deepened, as he turned his head to look at the host's dead face, which was giving him a very superior smile at that moment.  
  
-You know my future? - He thought, regarding the bound entity with great scepticism.  
  
~Only bits and pieces.~  
  
-And just how exactly did you come by these bits and pieces?-  
  
~I was stuck in a piece of metal for a few centuries, so I was a little out of the loop regarding the fates of some of the more important and tragic figures that had yet to come. When I was returned to the Darkness I learned a few things.~  
  
-Including my future?-  
  
~A little of it.~  
  
-And?-  
  
The daemonhost frowned at him. ~And what?~  
  
-What's supposed to happen to me?-  
  
~You will fall.~  
  
Broadway grinned. –That's it? I'm gonna trip or something?-  
  
~Actually...I meant into the Darkness.~  
  
Broadway glared dangerously at the daemonhost. –What the Hell's that supposed to mean?-  
  
Sin smiled darkly at the gargoyle. ~Exactly what it sounds like gargoyle. One day...you will be hated, not just by humanity...but by your own clan as well. You will be hunted, hated, and all those who are around you will fall at the wayside, through your own hand or through the efforts of others. Your only company will be the damned, and you will die, many years before a lonely, savage end.~  
  
Broadway crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. –So what's that supposed to be? A curse?-  
  
~No,~ replied Sin. ~It is...well...let' s just call it...an event with more than good possibility of coming to pass shall we?~  
  
-You mean something like my fate?-  
  
The daemonhost frowned. ~No. Not fate. Fate is an excuse. It is used by the weak of will and mind that do not try hard enough to control their own destinies. There is always a choice. It's just most are not aware of the options. And even then, many proceed regardless of them, choosing not to believe. If you could not avoid this then I would not waste my time telling you.~  
  
-And why are you telling me this?-  
  
~So you can avoid it. I imagine that would be pretty obvious don't you?~  
  
Broadway looked the daemonhost over suspiciously. –If it's so bad then why would you want me to avoid it? And why should I even listen to you? Or trust you for that matter? You're a daemon after all. We're on different sides. –  
  
Broadway could hear the daemon's laughter echo through his head as it looked at him, amused.  
  
~I'm not doing this for your benefit!~ laughed Sin. ~I'm doing this to piss off my superiors! They so badly want this deal to go off you see! And its so simple for you to avoid this!~ Sin leaned its head as far forward as its bonds would permit it and told Broadway:  
  
~Never, ever, trust Gabriel.~  
  
Broadway frowned at this. If he remembered what Angela had told him, Gabriel was the leader of the gargoyles on Avalon. What did he have to do with anything?  
  
Broadway's eyes widened as a thought occurred to him.  
  
He looked directly into the dead eyes of Sin's host.  
  
-If you know a little of the future, then what will happen? Will we stop Brooklyn? Will we save him from whatever he's become?-  
  
~I have said too much already,~ said Sin. ~So I shall say only this to you, the future for your kind is dark, and full of hate and pain. You protect a race that will eventually destroy yours, along with countless others if they are not stopped, by Brooklyn, or by others. ~ Sin smiled at him. ~Keep that in mind, when you stand alone at the gate.~  
  
And with that, Sin would say no more.  
  
Broadway looked at the daemonhost for a few moments, unsure whether to believe it or not, before he turned and started slowly walking to the door.  
  
"You heard all that didn't you?"  
  
Broadway turned about and looked at Lexington who was just a little behind him. His rookery brother had a weird look in his eyes, he seemed a little frightened.  
  
"You did hear all that didn't you?" He repeated.  
  
"Yeah," said Broadway simply. He looked over at Sin. "And it's all a bunch of crap too." He looked down at his brother and smiled encouragingly at him. "No one can tell the future, not even daemons."  
  
Lex seemed to cheer up a little, the look of fear changed to certainty. He chuckled. "Yeah, you're right."  
  
They both walked quickly to the exit, both smiling at each other now, and even chuckling at what was obviously a bunch of crap, while Sin watched them leave. Lexington started openly laughing at all he'd heard.  
  
Broadway smiled, opened the door and went outside. As the door started swing back into place, Lexington took a hold of the doorknob, but didn't open it.  
  
"Hey Lex! Aren't ya coming?"  
  
"Just a second," replied the small web wing. He silently shut the door behind his brother and looked back at Sin. The daemonhost hung in the air, staring at him but saying nothing.  
  
"You were just pulling my leg, right?"  
  
Sin remained silent.  
  
Lexington glared at the daemonhost. "Yeah, you were just pulling my leg. Just spewing a lot of crap to scare me. I would never do that and you know it."  
  
The daemonhost continued to stare at Lexington, not saying anything, psychically or verbally to the young gargoyle. A small smile spread across Lexington's lips.  
  
"Crap, that's all it is. Broadway's right. You don't know the future. You can't know it. It's impossible." He turned and opened the door. "I would never hurt him, let alone kill him and you know it. No matter what the reason." He walked out of the room, letting the door slowly swung back into its frame of its own accord while Sin watched him go. "He is, after all..." whispered Lexington Wyvern to himself as he strode down the darkened, arc shaped hallway leading to the curved stairs, with only the crackling flame torches that lined one side of the walls to guide him.  
  
"...my leader."  
  
The daemonhost Sin looked at the closed door for a long time as the lights died around it.  
  
~I tried. Let no one dare say otherwise.~  
  
*****  
  
Jezebel walked out of the servant's entrance of the mansion, onto the path of gravel that led out to the gardens. The security light above the door had been on when she had come out from sensing movement, which meant Demona had come this way. She scanned the endless darkness at the edge of the light provided by the mansion before walking out into it without a second thought.  
  
She was a witch, so the darkness held nothing that could frighten her.  
  
She went along the pathway, every other footstep accompanied by the metallic clink of the metal staff as it descended onto the stone ground. She held it in her right hand, absentmindedly tracing the outlines of one of the daemonic runes engraved upon the staff with her thumb as she walked further from the house and its light.  
  
She looked into the sky where there was a fair amount of cloud cover and the only sign that the moon was out was the illuminated outline of part of one of the clouds further off. There were cracks though in the clouds and in them she could see a brilliant display of stars.  
  
"Demona!"  
  
She looked around into the night as she neared a maze made of hedges, well attended, and at least two feet thick and eight feet tall. She called out again for the azure gargess to come out.  
  
They had to talk. She had to explain why she hadn't told her. She wanted her to know that they were going to tell her after they were sure she was ready for it.  
  
"Demona please! Demona I'm..."  
  
An image of Macbeth suddenly came into her thoughts and she stopped mid sentence.  
  
She stood in the darkness, quiet all of a sudden.  
  
There must have been a stream nearby; she could hear water rushing now. There was the scent of lavender in the quiet night air. The moon came out from the clouds and she looked up into it.  
  
How many had he seen in his lifetime? How many moons under how many skies?  
  
Jezebel looked down at the gravel, trying not to think of Macbeth, not now of all times.  
  
But...  
  
There had been a boy once, ages ago know. And she had been a girl then, with her mother and her grandmother as her only guides. They had taught her everything about the world that witches needed to know.  
  
"We can't be going to send you to school now can we?" Muttered her grandmother so many times as she and Jezebel sat beside the fireplace, drawing pictures in the ashes without lifting a finger. "If we send you to school...you'll be educated my girl! And then where will you be, eh?"  
  
The boy, that summer, he had proposed to her, but that summer she had seen a man whom sadness seemed to follow everywhere he went. He had been passing through her little town, out in the middle of no-where. He had only stayed in the inn a week or so.  
  
He had known her grandmother, from a time that she had never spoken of to the young and then, naïve Jezebel. They used to sit in the corner of the inn that he stayed in and talked for hours. The man and her grandmother, swapping stories of what had happened since they had last met, and telling her, as she sat there listening to them, of the adventures they had together when her grandmother was barely older than she was then.  
  
And oh what stories!  
  
Tales of ships and magic! Treasure and sword fights upon the battlements of castles in far off lands! Watching polar bears in the Artic and lions in the jungles of darkest Africa! The danger! The excitement of it all!  
  
Jezebel became totally in awe of this man who had apparently never aged a day since he had first met her family. She had fallen in love with him in the same way, she suspected, that her grandmother had, perhaps even when she was her age.  
  
She could tell from the way that they talked to each other, the sad and regretful way that they looked at each other across the table, when everything around them just seemed to vanish, until it was only they.  
  
The day he left, that last day on midsummer's eve. He had come to their cottage, miles away from anywhere, there had been the smell of lavender in the air, there had been entire fields of it where they had lived, it had been her mother and grandmother's favourite flower. Hers too.  
  
Her grandmother and the very sad man had walked along a dirt road, from their home, side by side, to where a stream flowed, under the shade of, it had been a willow tree hadn't it?  
  
Her grandmother had raised her arms, and the water stopped flowing. It froze, and parted, revealing the rounded stones underneath. She had whispered words that were lost to the young Jezebel as a strong breeze came up, drowning out the words with the swaying of the reeds the girl that she had been then had hidden in.  
  
The stones had parted for her grandmother, as an unseen force dug into the stone and mud underneath, until finally something that was not part of the river or the ground beneath became visible.  
  
Something wrapped in an old cloth, darkened with dirt and age.  
  
She had walked over to it and picked it up while the man watched her from the bank. She had come over to him slowly and held out the package before her. She began to speak, and Jezebel had strained to listen to what was being said between the pair.  
  
"Why move it now my love?" Her grandmother had asked.  
  
"I can keep it safe now," replied the man. "I have acquired a castle with very deep dungeons that I can keep it safe in. I can hide it, and she will never find it again."  
  
"My grandmother died to help you get this from her," her grandmother had said. "It can never fall into her hands again, or those of any other with ill intent. It should be destroyed."  
  
"And yet it remains. We are too weak my shining star. You and I. We have the will to, but our souls are weak and corruptible. We have touched it, and felt its power after all."  
  
Her grandmother had smiled at him then and handed him the package. He took it from her, but did not look inside. They had stared into each other's eyes for a moment, she could see her grandmother's cobalt blue eyes from where she had hidden and they were full of longing and sadness.  
  
They said nothing to each other. Instead, they gripped each other's hand, smiled and then broke apart, and headed in opposite directions from each other, her grandmother going back to their cottage and Macbeth going down the road to the inn.  
  
Neither looked back once.  
  
The boy, he had proposed to her a few days later and as much as she had loved him, she could not say yes. There was another then, and she found herself in love with him in a way she couldn't even describe.  
  
She had resolved to find him. When she was old enough and her mother and grandmother had nothing left to teach her. She had left their little cottage by the fields of lavender and set out across the continent, going through all sorts of interesting jobs and towns until she had seen that castle in the distance. That one that on the hill, that had a view of the rapidly growing New York skyline.  
  
He had opened the door to her himself and smiled, even though it had been nearly five years since they had last met, he recognised her at once and let her in.  
  
And it was as simple as that.  
  
She, upon realising the pain she could put him through if they became anything more than friends, instead became his most trusted servant. She followed him on many adventures, as her grandmother and her grandmother's grandmother had apparently done so.  
  
She sacrificed everything to be with him, to only be with him. In truth there hadn't been a day that she hadn't thought about what her life may have been like if she had said yes to that boy.  
  
But she had been happy living with Macbeth, but there was always that sadness around him, the sadness that she caused.  
  
Jezebel's eyes snapped open, wet with tears that ran, scolding hot down her cheeks.  
  
Demona had caused all his pain. He had destroyed her and himself along with her to stop what he had believed to be yet another plot for genocide, and yet Demona had been brought back and linked to Brooklyn now in immortality, to punish something that, now that Jezebel thought about it more really did make sense.  
  
People don't change, they can't ever change.  
  
She looked out into the darkness around her before turning around and walking back towards the mansion.  
  
Demona was evil, she was the cause of all this and she deserved no pity from anyone.  
  
"She doesn't deserve any pity. Someone as evil and hateful as that," whispered Jezebel to herself.  
  
As she walked inside, she didn't notice the rune that she had been thumbing, glow faintly in the darkness.  
  
"No pity at all."  
  
The sewers under St. Petersburg  
  
The vast expanse of tunnels, sewers drains and pipes, echoed the piercing screams for kilometres in every direction of the source.  
  
A boy was dying one of the cruellest deaths imaginable.  
  
Gregor Zaitsev watched his latest victim writhe and thrash on the altar he had been strapped to, a look on his face that suggested this was not the first time he had witnessed the horror. After all, he was the cause of it.  
  
But truth be told he had grown rather weary of watching children die in this fashion.  
  
He rubbed his crotch and smiled to himself.  
  
At least the boy had serviced him in a fairly decent manner in that department.  
  
His blood had the taste of too much junk food and sugar after more scrutinised tasting was done.  
  
The boy, the one he'd grabbed at the cinema, was strapped spread-eagled on the top of an altar made of crushed bone, compressed and filed into the image of three circles connected to each other by a three pronged bolt of lightning that sat in the centre.  
  
The symbol of Grandfather Nurgle, Lord of Plagues, Pestilence, and other general unpleasantness.  
  
His gift to Lucifer was hungry.  
  
The boy was naked on the altar, except for the gauntlets on his hands. Each was the colour of worn metal, a blend of rusted red and deathly green that was amplified by the single naked light bulb hanging right above the altar. It brought a harsh glare to the areas that its light touched, while amplifying the shadows of the circular chamber; walls lined with row upon row of polished deaths heads. A legion of socket-less eyeholes stared out at him as his dry throat emitted yet another hoarse scream.  
  
Zaitsev yawned.  
  
The gauntlets, each a masterpiece, ornately carved with intricate scenes of deaths, swarms of flies, ancient graves defiled and plague victims, their bodies bloated as boils the size fists and greater, exploded all over their bodies in spews of puss and blood. Small, scythe like claws, were at the end of each fingertip. The other joints of the fingers of the gauntlets were simply spiked with cruel, serrated claws that ended in tiny hooks whose sole purpose was to take large chunks of flesh from whomever they were used to punch.  
  
Upon the backhand of each, was a triangle. Inside it were three symbols. To the bottom left was Nurgle's. To the right of it was the eight pronged star, a malevolent eye in its centre. The symbol of Chaos. Atop both of these was the Pentecostal star, symbol of Lucifer, the Morning Star and undisputed Lord of the Darkness.  
  
The stench of death and disease in the room was overpowering.  
  
The boy's once plump belly was bloated now, on the verge of splitting open as all the liquids in his body thickened and made their way to his midriff. His left eye was dislodged from its socket as a boil arose just behind the lid, and filling with thick, stinking puss as the eye dangled along the side of his temple before bursting, filling the socket with its thick, sickening yellow mess. He screamed all the louder. Shaking his head madly. The eye, still connected to his head by its cord, began to twirl around and hit its owner as if it were a ball and chain.  
  
Zaitsev, finding this rather funny, laughed, while pulling something out from his brown greatcoat.  
  
"Come out where I can see you," he said calmly, aiming the chrome plated, stub-nosed revolver into the darkness.  
  
A smile crossed his lips as the black-clad figure did so. "You never returned my calls," he said, ignoring another ear splitting scream from the boy on the altar.  
  
"Sorry about that," said Furcifer, his voice quite genuine as he came into the light, his hands raised above his head as if the pistol in Zaitsev's hand could actually hurt him. "I've been quite busy."  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
Furcifer smiled and lowered his hands as he came around the altar that the boy was dying on and embraced Zaitsev in a camaraderie manner. Zaitsev returned the favour as they both laughed heartily.  
  
They broke the embrace and Furcifer smiled at him. "You're rather hard to find."  
  
Zaitsev smiled back, "I find it quite hard to believe that you of all people had difficulty finding me."  
  
"This place has changed since the last time I was here," explained Furcifer. "There were no sewers then."  
  
"And people threw their crap on the street," finished Zaitsev.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Furcifer looked at the boy on the altar with mild interest as he emitted a death rattle as he thrashed too hard and broke his back. The young teenager slumped on the table, his eyes glazing over as he let out his last breath.  
  
"What's the matter with youth these days?" Asked Zaitsev. "They're so damned weak."  
  
"What do you mean? You like it when they're weak."  
  
"I mean for this! It only took this one two hours," complained the huge Russian bitterly. "I remember when the young of this land took almost a solid five hours to expire as the gauntlets fed on them."  
  
"Five hours?" Said Furcifer in wonder. He thought this over for a moment. "Communists?"  
  
Zaitsev sighed as he nodded his head. "Now they were fun."  
  
They both sighed simultaneously and shook their heads.  
  
"Oh well," said Furcifer, poking the corpse with a hand gloved in black leather as it began to decompose at unnatural speed. He turned to look at Zaitsev. "So...apart from the whole weak prey stuff...how are things?"  
  
"Can't complain. Yourself? I was wondering when you'd show up." Zaitsev looked around the chamber curiously. "So where is he?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You know who."  
  
Furcifer smiled at him mischievously, "why? Are you that desperate to get out of here?"  
  
Zaitsev emitted a low chuckle. "Seriously. Where is he?"  
  
His smile vanished when Furcifer shrugged.  
  
"I've no idea." He said calmly. "Last I saw of him, he was closer to St. Petersburg than I was. I wish I knew what'd happened that's keeping him so long."  
  
Zaitsev stared at him. "Aren't you supposed to be protecting him?"  
  
"I don't believe he needs it."  
  
"How can you be so confident?"  
  
"He is the Anointed. I am sure of it." Replied Furcifer, with an air of certainty that permitted no argument.  
  
Zaitsev frowned. It was dangerous for Furcifer to make assumptions such as this, but he knew better than to question him. "Wanna go for a drink? I know a place."  
  
Furcifer looked at him suspiciously, "depends...do you drink from glasses or people in this place?"  
  
"Glasses."  
  
"Ah, I see...have the contents of these glasses been in people before they got into the glasses?"  
  
"Not usually."  
  
Furcifer smiled. "Excellent." He looked at the fast rotting corpse with distaste and covered his nose with a handkerchief. "Shall we vacate the premises? It's just this place is starting to smell as bad as you now."  
  
Zaitsev threw his head back and laughed, until he realised Furcifer wasn't joking.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
Furcifer shook his head and smiled as he led Zaitsev out of the chamber, while the young boy's flesh was ripped from his bones before dissolving in the air while the corpse's bloated belly finally split, spewing liquefied organs all over the altar, causing the stench in the room to reach unbearable limits.  
  
Paris  
  
The French capital was peacefully quiet in the early morning. The sun had been concealed by grey clouds, but still managed to shine down through the occasional gap. The city had yet to fully awake and only a few establishments, mainly grocers, supermarkets, newsagents and the odd coffee house to service the early risers were really open. The early morning mist that covered the river Seine, as it flowed lazily through the vast city had yet to fully dissipate and due to this mainly, no one really noticed the small skiff that had emerged from an unusually thick patch on the river. On this skiff stood two figures.  
  
You would have had to try very hard to find an odder pair.  
  
One was a woman, oriental and stunningly beautiful. Her shimmering black hair reached past her shoulders and shifted in the early morning breeze. She looked out on the world with eyes, a cold shade of arctic blue, which were currently concealed behind a designer pair of black sunglasses that cost as much as some peoples' entire wardrobes. She was dressed in a business suit by one of the premiere designers of the world that cost more than some cars. A white pair of lady's trousers with a white business jacket, which hung open loosely, contradicted sharply by her black shoes and large collared black blouse, on which was a Chinese white dragon motif on the left breast pocket. She stood rigidly straight on the skiff, with an air of unquestionable authority. A medium sized travel bag, yet again done by a world-renowned designer, lay by her feet. She was, for lack of a better word, stunning.  
  
Her companion was male and dressed quite differently. He was quite tall, and while his female companion's age looked to be around mid or early twenties, he appeared to be in his early forties. He was strangely handsome though, with high cheekbones and a prominent forehead. He looked out on the world with a pair of kind, chocolate brown eyes that seemed to project a feeling of sympathy to whoever he talked too. His hair was very black with a small beard and moustache that was connected to the rest of his hair through his sideburns. He was thin, but strongly built. He was dressed in dusty, old, white travel robes. He wore worn sandals on his feet. He seemed like a priest of some description. A simple sheepskin travel bag was slung over his shoulder.  
  
Their wooden skiff, designed simply for a simple purpose, drifted along the Seine until it came up to a stone walkway that descended to river level that was just under a bridge, allowing those with boats to dock there and come up into the streets of the just waking city. The skiff drifted into place silently and the woman leapt off immediately and began to walk briskly to the stone stairs.  
  
She was interrupted by a rather irritated cough and turned around to look at the man, who was frowning at her disapprovingly and pointing to her bag.  
  
She put her hands on her hips impatiently. "Well? What are you waiting for?"  
  
The man gave her a look that could probably kill lesser people, grabbed the woman's bag roughly and tossed at her. The woman caught the bag between her lithe hands, and glared dangerously back at the man as he got out of the skiff himself. They stood and faced each other; he stood slightly taller, but that did little to intimidate the woman.  
  
"I am not your servant Yuri," hissed the man dangerously, as he started walking forward and past the woman.  
  
"Still," said Yuri. "Acting like a gentleman surely wouldn't hurt you would it?"  
  
Anubis turned about and glared at her. "We have pressing little time woman. I just want to find out where Puck is and go home as quickly as possible. So get a move on. If you slow pace I won't wait for you." He turned about and walked up the stairs. Yuri glared at him before picking up her own bag and following him up.  
  
They came up onto the street and looked around. Both looking irritated for different reasons.  
  
"Paris," hissed Yuri, looking at a few people across the road, looking over the other end of the bridge. "I hate French people."  
  
"You hate everyone," snapped Anubis. He looked around as the sun managed to force its way through the clouds, shining down on the pair. "Why would Puck be here? I thought the Queen's grandson lived in Manhattan?"  
  
"He does. Perhaps Puck is neglecting his duty and wasting our time."  
  
Anubis sighed sadly as he looked around. "There's so much life here."  
  
"And we're pretty much barred from using our magic to find him," said Yuri. She glared at Anubis. "Stay on the matter at hand. I don't care about them; so don't start blabbing crap about how short and sad their lives are. Fuck them. They don't matter, they never did and they never will."  
  
Anubis growled something under his breath and didn't reply. Yuri counted that as an adequate response and picked a direction at random and started walking down the road quickly, Anubis following behind a few paces, not making any effort to catch up and walk beside her, as that may lead to further conversation.  
  
After about an hour, the morning traffic started to congest as people began to rise and make off to their places of work, filling the roads with cars, buses and the occasional motorcycle. Yuri and Anubis continued walking along the streets, occasionally asking around if anybody had seen either a tall, rather stiff looking man in a business suit with blonde hair and blue eyes or a silver haired youngster with colourful clothing on. So far they had been unsuccessful.  
  
"I'm fed up," stated Yuri, very irritated. "We're going for a coffee."  
  
"But we haven't found–"  
  
"I said we are going for a coffee."  
  
Anubis growled angrily and then growled some more when he was informed that he had decided to pay for coffee as well. It wasn't particularly hard to find a coffee shop in Paris, in fact it would have been more difficult for them to try and find a street in the shopping areas that didn't have at least two. However, Yuri didn't like the look of any on the street she had declared she wanted to stop. Neither did she like the look of the ones on the next several streets. Anubis kept looking at his watch impatiently before Yuri finally found one that suited her taste.  
  
It had modernist style architecture with two-dozen or so glass and steel tables out the front of the establishment that for reasons Anubis couldn't quite explain reminded him of dead swans while the steel chairs were twisted in a way that reminded him of giant pumpkins.  
  
"This isn't one of those artsy type places is it?" He asked after looking through the all glass walls that showed that the dead swan and pumpkins seemed to be some sort of theme for the interior decoration.  
  
"Why? Do you hate artsy places?"  
  
"Extremely."  
  
"Good. Sit down."  
  
They sat for several minutes, waiting to be served, Yuri taking out some lipstick and applying extra layer to what Anubis thought was an already heavily done mouth. Someone came up to them out of the crowd, but Yuri was too busy to notice that it wasn't actually a waiter.  
  
Anubis did however.  
  
"Puck?"  
  
"Would you care for any starters? Perhaps some cyanide for your lady friend here?" The Fey trickster smiled impishly at Anubis. "How's my favourite half-jackal-half-man today? Nice outfit by the way Yuri."  
  
Anubis glared at him. "You were following us?"  
  
"Yes. I figured that if I stayed magically silent then the Sisters and Daddy Oberon wouldn't bother me. I sort of also figured that Titania would send somebody she could trust to find out what's happening with me."  
  
"How did you know where we would arrive?" Asked Yuri, casually slipping her lipstick back in her pocket. Anubis looked at her carefully. If Puck's sudden arrival had surprised the Eastern Fey, she was doing an exceptional job of not showing it.  
  
"That's where the skiff to Paris always arrives."  
  
"How do you know about what's happening on Avalon?" Asked Yuri, now only turning her head to actually look at Puck. The trickster was dressed in a very colourful shirt, with a pair of blue jeans, brown boots and a black leather jacket that had small badges of all shapes and sizes covering the front and shoulders. His elfish ears where hidden under his long silvery hair.  
  
"When I'm reporting to the Queen, we do actually talk, when we think we aren't being listened to anyway."  
  
"Why are you here?" Asked Yuri. "What's so important that you defy Oberon and Titania?"  
  
"Believe it or not I am in fact doing what they told me to do," replied Puck, smiling wryly, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside Anubis. "They told me to protect Alexander. That's what I'm here to do. I had sort of been hoping for a little more than the pair of you as the cavalry but I suppose five is better than three any day."  
  
Anubis raised an eyebrow. "Five?"  
  
Puck looked at him for a moment before bursting into a grin. "Oh dear how rude of me! Genieve! Robert! Come over here and introduce yourselves!"  
  
Two people, a man and a woman, departed from the crowd and came up to the Fey table. Anubis looked them over.  
  
"These are," said Puck grandly, first pointing to the woman. "Genieve de Morangias." He then pointed to the man. "And Robert Faulkner."  
  
The woman, Genieve, was black and in her early twenties. Her skin was a beautiful shade of ebony. She had stunning sapphire eyes, while she sported a pretty, but not wholly beautiful face. Her hair, black as the night sky, was made to stand up in a way that reminded Anubis of the prow of a ship. She was very well built though. Anubis could see formidable looking muscles under her clothes. She was wearing a sleeveless black top made of satin, revealing powerful shoulders, the rest of her arms were concealed by a pair of black evening gloves that reached up well past her elbows. She had a pair of black pants of the same material as her top, with a white leather belt across her waist, with black lady's boots covering her feet.  
  
The man, Faulkner, was white, his skin well tanned. He stood slightly taller than Genieve. He looked to be roughly the same age, perhaps a year or two older. He had unruly brick brown hair, with a pair of silver grey eyes though with a fairly plain face. He was clean-shaven except for a mound of hair that sat on his small chin that Anubis assumed to be some sort of beard. He was dressed quite casually, in khaki pants, a pair of brown hiker's boots, a faded Foo Fighters T-shirt under an open navy coloured denim jacket.  
  
"How do you do," said Faulkner cheerily, a hint of an English accent on his lips. He extended a hand to Yuri. The Fey woman looked at it and back up at him in complete distaste, so he withdrew it awkwardly.  
  
"Who are you?" Asked Yuri after she felt sure that the humans were uncomfortable enough.  
  
"Old friends of Puck here," replied Genieve, giving Yuri a cold stare of her own. Her voice held no clear accent. "He sort of dropped in on us."  
  
"Mind if they sit?" Asked Puck. Anubis nodded quickly before Yuri could say anything and so the humans drew up two chairs, sitting as far away from Yuri as possible. Anubis looked Puck over as they did so.  
  
"You look tired," said Anubis.  
  
"I'm bloody exhausted," replied Puck.  
  
"How'd you get here?"  
  
Puck smiled and looked at him. "Oh that's a story and a bit."  
  
Flashback: Manhattan, Two days previous  
  
"Go on!" Yelled Puck; looking upwards. "I'll handle this."  
  
He looked up into the thickest part of the flock of daemonic crows as Claw carried Elisa off towards Talon and the open manhole as quickly as he could.  
  
Puck began to chant as he started searching out the sky, concentrating so much of his magical power that he sent a mild tremor through the ground.  
  
The crows began to circle him, ignoring the others. Puck looked into the centre, concentrating, yelling in the daemon's tongue, and challenging Crow to reveal its true form to him.  
  
He could hear the daemon chuckle, its mocking laughter echoing throughout the confines of his mind. –Laugh at me will you?-  
  
~Yes,~ replied the dark cloud of birds. ~You are but a weakling Fey. I, am a Greater Daemon. You shall die this day for standing against me.~  
  
-If you're not afraid of me then show yourself!- Puck's eyes narrowed as he thought this, he brought his hands together and began to chant under his breath. If what the daemon said was true, then he had only one sure chance of defeating it.  
  
The daemon laughed. The crows cawed and began to fly en masse upwards. The temperature dropped while small shafts of blue lightning began to emanate from them as their images became blurred as they all circled around each other ever closer until they had all become one immense black blur in the sky. More shafts of lightning came out from the mass now, straying off in random directions, lighting up the entire street.  
  
A shape began to form out of the blur. First, long, lithe arms, clawed feet, a pair of immense wings, an extended neck on which sat a bird daemon's head, its curved black beak was lined with a row of tiny, sharp fangs. Its entire body was covered with black feathers, while a pair of pitiless blood red orbs served as its eyes. A long robe with wide sleeves, an imperial shade of dark purple, was wrapped around Crow's thin body. The Greater Daemon stood at roughly twelve foot six, towering over the Fey. Long arcs of blue lightning ran up and down the daemon as it looked down at Puck, showing its teeth to its opponent in way of a smile. They were mere feet apart.  
  
Puck smiled triumphantly back at it. "Thanks. I needed a big target." With that he threw everything he had at the Greater Daemon all at once in a single, concentrated blast of magic.  
  
Crow seemed to have anticipated this. It raised one of its hands, withered long fingers bedecked in gold rings, out before it, and a streak of daemonic lightning came out of its fingers as the smell of spices in the air intensified.  
  
Both shots collided with each other and the ground shook as they did so. The entire street was lit up as Puck and the Greater Daemon let loose with as much destructive energy as they possibly could. Both of their shots had hit each other and were pushing against each other violently as both assailants fought to outdo the other.  
  
Puck took a step forward, both hands now outstretched. Not to be outdone, Crow took two steps forward. This continued for several seconds until the pair were barely two feet apart.  
  
~If one of us does not let up soon,~ whispered Crow, its voice sounding a little strained. ~We will loose control.~  
  
"That's the plan," replied Puck, barely. His body was now rigid while shafts of magical and psychic energy ran up and down his strained limbs.  
  
~But that will destroy the both of us.~  
  
"It'll destroy you won't it?"  
  
~Of course...but you shall die too.~  
  
Puck remained silent, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep control and not let Crow outdo him. He had to keep pushing as hard as he could. The timing had to be perfect.  
  
The daemon smiled. ~Self-sacrifice? Oh please! You should know what happens.~ Puck said nothing so the daemon continued. ~You will die, and shall never walk the earth again. My grip on the physical world will be broken...but I will return in time.~  
  
"Centuries...even...millennia...from now..."  
  
~Perhaps, but we have learned patience.~ Said Crow. ~Any idea of sacrifice against the likes of me is pointless, as I can never be truly destroyed in the first place.~  
  
Puck growled through clenched teeth. He could feel the strain of the energy build-up in front of him; he could feel his clothes begin to burn. Any second now...  
  
~You shall die here against me. Alone.~  
  
Despite all the strain on him, Puck somehow managed a mischievous half- grin.  
  
"Who said I'm...taking you...on alone?"  
  
He could actually see the Greater Daemon frown over the area where their attacks were colliding. He drew off a little of his strength, just barely enough to do what he needed to do. Crow seemed to grasp what was going on and tried impotently to stop him, but they were so close now that if it slacked off any of its own power in the attack then Puck's may have broken through the daemon's and destroyed it while Puck would remain, while Puck didn't need a great deal to reach out for a mind he knew so well.  
  
-Alexander.-  
  
The infant half-Fey was still at the Eerie, which was excellent; it meant he didn't have to reach too far from here.  
  
-Yes teacher,- came the reply, instantly.  
  
Puck couldn't help but smile. The boy was so strong already. –My boy, I need to ask a favour of you.-  
  
-I think I know what it is.-  
  
-That spell I taught you, the one that involves transporting objects over very long distances...-  
  
-Like I did with the clones? - Asked Alex quickly.  
  
-Yes, this is what I want you to do.- Puck explained quickly. -And remember, either the timing is perfect or I'm dead.-  
  
-I understand Puck.-  
  
The Fey trickster thanked Alexander and poured every ounce of reserve he had left at the daemon, which now had no choice, but to do the same or die.  
  
Barely seconds later, the pressing together of such awesome power on both sides created a deadly reaction, and the destructive power exploded outwards in all directions.  
  
At the precise time that this happened, Alexander grabbed hold of Puck with his magic, and teleported him out of the blast zone.  
  
Crow barely had a chance to howl in rage before the blast hit and destroyed the daemon, along with most of the surrounding area. The last thing it heard before the explosion that destroyed its grip on the world was Puck's near maniacal laughter.  
  
Back to present: Paris  
  
Anubis smiled as Puck finished his story of how he defeated the Greater Daemon. Puck seemed more than willing to take in any praise.  
  
"Clever," said Yuri grudgingly. This seemed to give Puck an even bigger ego boost as he grinned back at the eastern Fey. "I take it that it was Alexander who also sent you here?"  
  
"That's right. With the exact same spell."  
  
"He landed in my bedroom," said Genieve. "Out cold too. He didn't wake up till yesterday."  
  
"So you haven't technically actually defied Oberon at all," said Anubis, catching on. "Because you fought the daemon to protect Alexander's protectors, and it was Alexander himself who sent you here."  
  
"That's right," smiled Puck. "That which cannot be broken can often be bent instead."  
  
"So what are you going to do now?" Asked Yuri.  
  
"Simple," replied Puck. "I have a feeling that Demona and the others may not have the strength to stop Brooklyn and whatever is helping him get what he needs for revenge so I propose we deal with him instead so as to make sure the clan's not hurt."  
  
"We should contact the court then," said Anubis.  
  
"No," said Yuri firmly. "This could create a scandal in the court and our Lord may be directly implicated. He did after all create this mess in the first place. It may lead to those dissatisfied at his current rule and his leniency to the Wyrd Sisters to claim that he is playing favourites and is unfit to rule if he would allow such maniacs to run loose to threaten our security. This matter must be dealt with quietly and with the minimum number knowing it. Our first duty is, after all, to protect our King."  
  
"That's odd Yuri," said Anubis. "One minute you seem to want him dead and the next you're his most faithful servant. Is there a reason for this?"  
  
The Fey woman glared at him dangerously. "I have my reasons dog man. They are none of your business."  
  
Anubis folded his arms and glared back at Yuri, growling but saying nothing.  
  
"Our first step is to go to that town in the Czech Republic," said Faulkner suddenly, taking out a small map of Europe and unfolding it on the glass covered table. "Some of my colleagues died there recently in that slaughter in that town near the Polish border. We might be able to get some clue as to where that gargoyle is heading now."  
  
Anubis nodded, leaning forward as Puck and the two humans took turns to describe the scant few bits of information and clues they could scrap together and what they believed the best way of fighting Brooklyn and whoever it was that was helping him.  
  
Yuri listened with great interest. This would offer the perfect opportunity to retake the position that the Wyrd Sisters had stolen from her. Her Lord would be indebted to her for this service and would see that the Sisters were playing him false. Then, she could have him again, in her power, and no one else's.  
  
"Once we find him," said Puck. "We must be careful. His power may be growing by the day. There's no telling the kind of damage he could do to us if we're not careful."  
  
Eighteen miles South of Luga, Russia, three days later: roughly one in the morning  
  
The night sky was a mixture of midnight blue and black velvet, without a cloud to be seen anywhere in the horizon. The brilliantly yellow crescent moon lighted up the ground, aided, by the legions of stars, and by the burning wreck of Rincewald's Albanian camper in the ditch.  
  
There were wheat fields on either side of the road, the fire had spread to one, and was devouring it like a starved animal. The wheat swayed in the gentle breeze, as the air was filled with the crackling of flames, the smell of cordite, daemonic spice, and by the final echoes of gunfire.  
  
Brooklyn was not having a very good night.  
  
He, Riana and Rincewald, were all lying on their bellies, two fields south of the one that had caught fire. Brooklyn was carefully sliding a new clip into his one remaining Desert Eagle, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible. He'd lost the other in the confusion when the fields in front of Rincewald's camper suddenly opened fire on them. His Katana was in its scabbard, attached to his belt, along three low yield grenades, six clips for his pistol, and a single edged knife. All he was able to grab hold of as the trio leapt out of the camper. The Black Sun lay in front of him.  
  
Riana crawled, silently up beside him, trying to disturb as little of the wheat as possible as she did so. She was wearing a very muddied pair of black leather biker pants, combat boots, and an obnoxiously bright pink silk blouse that was now mud brown at the front. Her ash blonde hair was very messed up, and dirty, from the initial dive into the ditch. She clutched her Kukri knife and whip tightly to her chest, they were all she had been able to save apart from a Walther P228 pistol that she had on an ankle holster, with its single clip of low calibre shells.  
  
Tracer fire decapitated the wheat just above their heads, showering them in the soft ears of a nearly ready harvest. Brooklyn heard Rincewald whisper a violent swear as the tracer fire moved further south to the next field.  
  
"Who the fuck are they?" Whispered Brooklyn when Riana was right beside him.  
  
The woman shrugged, "Inquisitors?"  
  
Brooklyn cocked his pistol very slowly with both hands, wishing the gun not to click too loudly. In the silence of the night, the pistol's click was almost ear shattering to the crimson gargoyle.  
  
He was sure someone would hear it.  
  
He heard voices whisper in the direction of the road. Two, perhaps three different voices.  
  
This was followed by thump like sound, before he heard something sail through the air and land quite heavily roughly forty meters from them. He saw Riana cover her ears quickly and followed suit.  
  
A second later, the grenade went off with a deafening boom as the ground near the blast shook violently for a second as dirt and burning wheat flew into the air before crashing to the ground in a twenty meter radius, flattening all the wheat hit by it.  
  
Riana swore under her breath.  
  
"RIANA MIRELIP!"  
  
The trio paused as the voice called Riana's name out again. The voice was deep and powerful, with a slight American accent.  
  
Brooklyn looked quickly at Riana, who was shaking her head ruefully. "Not him. Not now."  
  
"Who?" Whispered Rincewald desperately. "Who the fuck is that?"  
  
Whereas Brooklyn and Riana had managed to grab at least some of their firearms, Rincewald had only been able to grab hold of his staff, his raven head cane, and Fuzzy. The guinea-pig familiar was currently poking its head out of the breast pocket of the necromancer's ruined grey suit. He'd lost his hat and dark green tie to the flames. He was looking quite flustered. "Who is that Riana?"  
  
"MIRELIP! YOU SATANIC WHORE! COME OUT HERE AT ONCE AND FACE ME!"  
  
Riana sighed again.  
  
"Harrison," she said, venom creeping into her voice. "Benjamin fucking Harrison."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Riana shook her head. "I killed his wife about a decade ago."  
  
"What the Hell is he? An Inquisitor?"  
  
"Yeah, but I haven't seen him in years."  
  
Another grenade landed thirty or so meters away in a part of the huge plain that they'd previously crawled through, destroying much of the crops and spreading the fire perilously close to them.  
  
They began to crawl awkwardly again through the wheat.  
  
"MIRELIP! MIRELIP! MY MARSHA SHALL BE AVENGED!" Roared Harrison. "SHE SHALL HAVE HER VENGANCE ON YOU!"  
  
"So, why'd you kill her?" Whispered Brooklyn, shedding his black leather greatcoat, revealing a corded black shirt and black cargo pants, and carefully taking the Malus Codicium out of his coat pocket. He liked the coat an awful lot, but it just made too much noise and disturbed the wheat as it dragged along. He wrapped his wings under his arms and around his chest, tucking the book in the gap his wings provided.  
  
Riana looked at him. "I felt like it."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
They moved on a bit more as the grenade launcher, Harrison's group was using, decimated another large section of the crops in the opposite direction that they were crawling to.  
  
Brooklyn risked a glance up just over the heads of the wheat to see their attackers.  
  
He could make out the silhouettes five figures in the moonlight, one was on one knee and scanning the direction opposite them with a very large rifle of some sort, he could see an immensely powerful looking sniper's lens sitting atop the barrel. All the figures were heavily cloaked and he wondered briefly which one was Harrison. One of them was a bulking monstrosity, from the look of him, even bulkier than Goliath, he could see a single bestial horn rise up from his forehead and a huge mound of shaggy hair pour over his back while they held a polearm weapon of some description in a single hand. He saw no wings though.  
  
He darted his head back down again when he thought one of them was turning their head his way.  
  
"This Harrison," whispered Brooklyn quickly. "What exactly did he do?"  
  
"Last time I saw him was a few years ago," replied Riana. "He had just started out as a field agent for the Inquisition." She smiled sadistically. "He wanted to hunt me down, so I came to his house one night when he was away and nailed his wife's rotting head to the inside of the door."  
  
"You dug her up?"  
  
"Hell no. I had the head the whole time, I even sent her eyeballs to him separate after her funeral." She couldn't help but chuckle to herself. "Boy did that fuck him up."  
  
"Why did you do this to him again?"  
  
Riana stared at him. "I told you. I just felt like it...why?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
They crawled on a little more.  
  
"So, is that the last you ever heard of him?"  
  
"That was just the last time I saw him," replied Riana, inching her way on as carefully as possible. "Last I heard of him, now, that was about two years ago."  
  
"Well?"  
  
She grinned. "Old Benny boy got himself excommunicated."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
Riana's grin deepened. "He was also declared by the Inquisition to be Extremus Diabolus after he stole a number of volumes of a text written by some weirdo cultist they were studying in some dump in Nigeria and killed the whole staff of clerks and Inquisitors that were studying it."  
  
"Congratulations Riana," muttered Rincewald dryly behind them. "You have once again proven that forces of Darkness sometimes have to rely on the stupidest of people." He turned his attention to Brooklyn. "I say we give that nut job back there what he wants and be on our merry way."  
  
"Fuck you stiff shagger."  
  
Brooklyn actually considered this for a few brief seconds, but decided against it.  
  
Riana could still be of some use to him.  
  
Rincewald shot his head up for a quick second. "They seem to be moving the other way," he said, as there was another muffled explosion. "There's a small clump of trees about half a mile away from the road," he explained quickly. "We could use them for cover and to think about our next move."  
  
"Crawl? For half a mile?"  
  
"You got any better ideas?"  
  
Brooklyn grumbled something incomprehensible as the trio crawled in the direction Rincewald insisted the trees were.  
  
*****  
  
Harrison watched the wheat sway from the breeze and burn from the devastation caused by Byron's grenade launcher. The large Texan had swung the spent weapon to his back with its strap and had pulled the automatic riot gun that lay in its scabbard across his back, racking it as he did so. He was wearing a long, light grey greatcoat with an attached hood that covered up his deformed head...  
  
His eyes had been wicked, evil. They constantly roved up and down all the women he had claimed before he had come into his service. His mouth had spat such vile blasphemies.  
  
But now he had fixed him.  
  
As he had the others...  
  
James Farrell had been his sniper before he had seen the true way to fight the Darkness, and avenge his beloved Marsha.  
  
The Irishman had been in the I.R.A before Harrison had recruited him. He now stood; he was a typical Celt, tall, pale white skin, short cut raven black hair...  
  
He turned his head to face Harrison; his eyeless sockets that had held such deceitful jade eyes had stopped bleeding so very long ago...  
  
"They are heading towards the woods sir," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion or his once thick, Donegal accent. He pointed a stitched finger towards the woods to emphasise his point. "They go."  
  
Harrison clapped his hands happily.  
  
How well James was doing! And Byron!  
  
They had been so very un-Christian before...but now!  
  
He had stopped Byron's swearing by removing his tongue and sowing his lips together. His eyes were gone now, like James'. But now they could see everything! The site of James's rifle, a huge, custom-made monstrosity, was just for show. James didn't need it anymore...  
  
He heard a growl behind him and looked with pride towards his two precious, precious creations.  
  
Fustis and Chimera.  
  
Fustis had once been called Alan. He had been a child of the street in Nigeria, which meant no one would miss him. He had been fourteen when Harrison had liberated the Doctrine from those fools at the Inquisition. Those who had read it had foolishly gone off to monasteries and convents to try and erase what they had read...  
  
Fools! Fools all them!  
  
Could none of them understand? Could none of them appreciate the importance of this text?  
  
They could destroy the Darkness forever with it! He was sure! Biomancy and Daemonology were the way forward! And to think those Puritan fools were still using prayer and blessed weapons!  
  
How archaic.  
  
He frowned.  
  
But it was not just those foolish Puritans...even self-confessed Radicals wanted nothing to do with him.  
  
They had all...all the factions had called him a madman! Insane! Renegade!  
  
Heretic...  
  
He shuddered with anger.  
  
Heretic...  
  
Tears of fury welled in his eyes.  
  
Heretic...  
  
They had thrown him out. They'd dispatched entire Kill-Teams out to deal with him. He'd lost all his resources, all his allies...all his friends.  
  
Heretic...  
  
But he would make them all see...he'd make all of them see he was right...this was the only way to fight the enemies of God.  
  
He looked towards Fustis again. He had been quite tall for his age, nearly as tall as James as a matter of fact. He wore only his cloak and a pair of faded blue denim shorts. His tendrils, multi coloured, some ending in bone, club-like protrusions will others ended in cat-o-nine-tail style, spiked bio-whips, and dragged along the gravel, past his feet, almost a dozen on each stump where his arms used to be. His mouth had been sown shut in the curve of a smile, while his eyeless sockets were like two deep craters within a landscape that had suffered a cataclysmic earthquake. There was huge vertical spilt on his chestnut brown face that was sown together. His belly, chest and left leg were just like it, huge splits all along them, stitched up again afterwards. Fustis had been his test subject, albeit an unwilling one...  
  
But then Byron and James had volunteered when they had tried to stop him. But they were more useful the way they were now anyway.  
  
He then turned his full attention on his masterpiece...Chimera.  
  
You could do so very much with a needle and steel cord...  
  
Chimera stood at eleven foot, four inches. He had conceived its creation in a moment of fervour and passion, as he had looked around the remnants of Kill-Teams Epsilon and Kappa. Thirteen gargoyles in all.  
  
They had fought so hard against him, such wild desperation...  
  
Chimera's face was the combination of three gargoyles, its mouth was a large, hooked beak the colour of ochre, as many sharp canines as Harrison could pry from the mouths of the dead Kill-Teamers lined the torn and stitched gums within. The right topside of the head was gazelle like, with oak coloured fur, its eye an animal brown while a ribbed, black horn jutted up from atop its head. The top left side of Chimera's head was ultramarine blue, with a shredded webbed ear, a glazed over hazel eye, and a shorter horn that curved up from its eye ridge while a thick main of golden blonde hair that reached down to the waist from the small portion of the back of the head it took up. These three segments were all triple stitched and stapled together. Chimera's thick neck was ochre (it was part of the same gargoyle that had provided the mouth, an unfortunate male named Paul), while its abdomen was patchwork of fuchsia, jet black, lavender purple, ultramarine, muddy brown, grass green and murky grey, all held together by thick, white stitching and steel operating staples. Chimera had a huge chest and immensely broad shoulders, the combination of the three toughest of the gargoyles sent to kill him. Its arms were thick with the muscles he had pumped full of steroids and bio-welded in. Chimera's immense belly flowed heavily over the black carapace armoured pants that had belonged to one of the Kill-Team, stitches and staples covering the rotten flesh while a large inch thick plate of rusted steel hung over to protect all the extra organs Harrison had grafted into Chimera's unnatural body, the rest of Chimera's chest and shoulders were armoured with dulled, mismatched steel plate armour. Its lavender purple and jet-black legs had received the same muscle enhancement and steroid treatment that its arms had while its spike ended, muddy brown tail swished this way and that. It held an immense halberd in its bone-white, right hand as if it weighed nothing at all. Chimera had no wings, it was a physical impossibility that it could get air born, it was simply too large and heavy. Its flesh glistened in the moonlight from the bodily fluids that leaked from the cracks in parts of Chimera's rotting flesh.  
  
Chimera had taken weeks to make.  
  
It stared at him now through blank, dead eyes. It hissed.  
  
"Relax my friend," he purred. "You shall taste the flesh of Riana's companions." He smiled darkly. "But Riana must first taste my most righteous fury, and that of my beloved."  
  
He walked lazily towards the clump of woods that the true heretics were crawling towards, his brown, double-breasted leather stormcoat brushing against the crops as his four companions fell in behind him. He had waited a decade for this moment, a few more minutes would matter little.  
  
Riana would finally face both his and God's wrath in what awaited her there, in those woods.  
  
He slowed his pace even further, to allow his group walk abreast of him and smiled as he looked at the stars above. They reminded him so much of her...  
  
"Marsha," he whispered, a tear trailing down his withered face. "You shall have your vengance. Guide my hand tonight beloved."  
  
He picked up pace and drew an automatic combat shotgun from the scabbard on his back, the others speeding up too as they headed for the trees in the opposite direction of the heretics.  
  
*****  
  
Brooklyn pressed himself against a tree, carefully surveying a clearing. It was perhaps ten or so meters square, trees on every side with small shafts of moonlight peaking through the leaves and branches. It was in the centre of the clump of trees, giving a decent vantage point of the road they had fled, he could still make out the flames of Rincewald's crappy camper. It was the sort of place you would expect to find lovers in the summer and spring nights.  
  
He couldn't hear his pursuers anymore.  
  
He held the black and white handle of his Katana in both hands tightly, he had rubbed damp earth along the blade to make sure no moonlight reflected off it as Riana had done with her Kukri. The Black Sun lay attached to his back after he slid it through the harness for the shoulder holsters of his pistols and the belt around his waist.  
  
Rincewald inched his way along the woods until he was just beside the gargoyle, his own staff in one hand and Brooklyn's Desert Eagle in the other. His clips had been quickly jammed into his pockets while his cane was jammed onto his tight fitting belt.  
  
The trio advanced cautiously into the clearing, Riana off to Brooklyn's far left while Rincewald hung close to his right. None of them spoke. When they had almost reached the centre of the clearing, they stopped dead in their tracks while Brooklyn actually forgot himself and swore out loud.  
  
A figure, the same height as Rincewald, had suddenly emerged from the brushwood barely three feet away in front of them.  
  
It stood upright as it faced them, the moonlight coming through the trees highlight the dark navy of their heavy, floor length cloak, while a large hood covered the face of the newcomer completely in shadow.  
  
They all stood stupefied for a second, before the smell gave the figure away.  
  
Like some exotic spices of some far off land, strong, sharp and enticing.  
  
The daemonhost tossed its cloak off without saying a word to them as it lit up the clearing like a beacon, showering them all in its golden aura.  
  
Brooklyn swore as he saw Rincewald shove the useless pistol into his pocket and took his staff in both hands out of the corner of his eye. His face was set in grim determination.  
  
He looked again at the daemonhost, and knew at once that Harrison was mad.  
  
This host had been dead for some time; it had obviously been over treated with preservatives and the sort you'd expect to find in a mortician's. But time had still some effect on it. It was female, most of the skin rotted and decayed through; from the little left it seemed to be a white Caucasian. It had but a few wiry strands of auburn hair on its otherwise bald scalp, across its naked, decayed body were chains of iron and gold, holding talismans in place to keep the daemon more securely in the host body, restrain its devastating power and make it unlikely to turn on its captor, that is, as long as the host body survived.  
  
But talismans were not the only things covering the body; there were also reams of jewellery around its neck, arms and fingers. Gold and silver rings, necklaces, pendants...  
  
And the stitching, which went up along its mid-riff and all over its body, keeping fingers, arms, the left leg at the thigh, even the head in place. There was a rotted pair of chestnut coloured eyes in the sockets.  
  
It took a step forward, and Brooklyn took one back in revulsion.  
  
He cast a quick glance over to Riana, and was quite disconcerted.  
  
She was standing stark still, whip and Kukri dangling uselessly at her sides as she stared at the daemonhost with a mixture of shock and total horror.  
  
He didn't have to ask why she was so alarmed as the answer hit him suddenly, and he too stared at the daemonhost, finally aware of just how deep the feeling of insanity was around it, as Rincewald also seemed to understand what was going on and swore rather imaginatively.  
  
They were staring at Harrison's wife.  
  
It raised its hand to fire at them, but Rincewald beat the daemon to it, roaring an incantation and sending a streak of pale green lightning at the daemonhost, lifting it off its feet and sending it crashing through a tree behind it. The host got up a little shakily and returned fire as the necromancer brought up a shield around the trio, deflecting the blast and send it hurtling into a nearby clump of trees, causing many to burst into flame while others were utterly destroyed.  
  
Brooklyn sheathed his sword and yanked the daemonic staff from his back, pointing the skull end at the daemonhost as he heard an earth-shattering roar behind them. An instant later, an enormous bulk crashed into him and he was sent flying into the air and actually over the daemonhost, only stopping when he crashed into a tree on the other side of the clearing, breaking at least one rib and getting the air knocked out of him. He had dropped the daemonic staff when he had been hit; it now lay on the other side of the clearing.  
  
He sat up, his head swimming and took a deep breath and almost hurled.  
  
The putrid smell of rotting flesh that stormed the clearing was overwhelming.  
  
Through dizzy eyes he saw Rincewald and Riana back off as the abomination strode awkwardly into the clearing, backhanding a tree with its free hand, knocking the ancient oak right out of the ground and sending it crashing over, throwing dirt and roots in the air. It held a huge, wickedly bladed halberd in its armoured right hand. He looked at the enormous, rippling muscles he could make out at the joints of the heavy, mismatched plate armour that appeared slick with its own leaking bodily fluids.  
  
It stood as tall as some of the trees it was uprooting. Compared to this thing's size, even Goliath was a child.  
  
And the smell...  
  
He found it increasingly difficult not to throw up from that stench of death, as it grew increasingly stronger as it moved further into the clearing. The earth seemed to shudder as it took large, heavy, awkward steps, as if it were not totally used to its weight and size.  
  
It stood and looked at the three of them in turn, Rincewald first, and then him. Brooklyn noticed the pair of mismatched eyes and some of the stitching all over its multi-coloured and textured face, and noticed it was the same with the rest of its body, even seeing more stitching under the plates.  
  
This monstrosity was made of other gargoyles.  
  
Brooklyn rose to his feet shaking, with rage mostly, and drew his sword. The daemonic runes along the blade burst into pale blue flame as he channelled his hate into it. He gripped the handle tightly in both hands and took a standard fighting stance, the blue flames flowing across the blade and burning now in his eyes making himself looking rather daemonic.  
  
He'd feed Harrison to rapid dogs for this insult.  
  
The abomination struck out at Rincewald, catching him by surprise, sending the necromancer into the air and flying into a thick clump of bushes. It turned its gaze to Riana, who had backed off a little and had sheathed her Kukri and pulled out her P228 and was pointing it at the creature.  
  
The daemonhost had not budged; instead it was staring at the staff that Brooklyn had dropped.  
  
"What the Hell is that thing?" Yelled Brooklyn.  
  
"My creation, heretic," said a man whom Brooklyn correctly guessed as the rogue Inquisitor Harrison. "One of my instruments of vengance." He had come out into the clearing in a leisurely way, covered by two badly deformed men and someone else in a cloak and hood.  
  
He was a very tall man with a thin, yet powerful frame. His hair was cut short, quite neat and greyed. He had a deep-set pair of maroon eyes with a burning in them that suggested he was capable of only the extremes in emotion. He was clean-shaven with a pointed chin and very pale white skin and a prominent, hawk like nose. He was dressed in what looked like black carapace body armour under a closed, floor length, six buttoned double breasted storm coat of aged brown leather. Crisscrossing his coat were several belts, including one that held a very intimidating sheathed greatsword at his waist that seemed to vibrate with unnatural power, as well as the holster for what looked like a long barrelled revolver, while the other belts held pouches for ammunition. He held an automatic combat shotgun in his hands, which were gloved in black leather. He looked like he could have been anything between his late forties or very early sixties.  
  
The combined smell of death, decay and the daemonic off him was intense.  
  
Brooklyn took a step back and faced the Inquisitor, raising his sword before him.  
  
Human and Gargoyle glared at each other as the rest of Harrison's men fanned out to form a semicircle around Brooklyn.  
  
"So who's this Riana?" Asked Harrison coldly, not looking at Riana, but keeping his gaze firmly on Brooklyn. "A minion of yours?"  
  
"No," replied Brooklyn, his voice venomous.  
  
"Well it doesn't really matter who you are," continued Harrison, his tone remaining icy. "You are an ally of this hateful daemonette and must suffer as she will now."  
  
"Oh give over Benny," snapped Riana.  
  
He glared over at her. "My wife shall have her vengance you satanic bitch!"  
  
The daemonhost sprung into action and came at Riana from her left as the Harrison's creation came at her from the front. The entire length of Riana's whip burst into unearthly white flame before she snapped it out towards the approaching daemonhost. The end of the blazing whip hit it in the chest, causing it to hiss in pain and fly backwards off into the air. Just then Chimera barrelled towards her, roaring wildly and swinging its halberd in one hand, as if it weighed nothing. Riana dived over a horizontal slash, rolled and came up firing at it. Chimera growled as she blew out the eye on the ultramarine side of its head, the light calibre round crushing the hazel eye and lodging itself into the cracked bone behind.  
  
Chimera didn't even flinch, preferring instead to roar and swing the halberd in a downward arc. Riana was barely able to sidestep the serrated axe blade before the daemonhost came at her from her above, hurling a blast of golden flame at her, she back-flipped out of the way, the force of the blast sending her high into the air. She emptied the clip at Chimera's head as she came down, landing hard on her feet and tossing the useless pistol aside before she rolled to her right to avoid another swing by Chimera as she tore her Kukri from its sheath.  
  
She stood and faced her two attackers, glaring at the pair.  
  
"Well? What are you waiting for? BRING IT!"  
  
Brooklyn actually laughed while Harrison and his three companions continued to stare at the fight intently. None of them noticed the slight rustling of the bushes near them.  
  
As Chimera and the daemonhost prepared to rush Riana, there was tremendous roar from behind the group. They all twirled around just in time to see a raven black mass of fur and muscle with a maw nearly a meter wide with a pair of massive blade like teeth burst from the brush and close in on one of Harrison's men; a gentleman with a sniper rifle. The enormous maw enveloped him before he could react, and the teeth chomped into his mid- section, cutting him clean in half. The upper part of his body disappeared as the jaws closed around it as his legs and lower body slumped forward, blood flowing freely all over the black mass that stood taller than a polar bear.  
  
Brooklyn stared at the monstrosity, his jaw hanging from his mouth.  
  
"Fuzzy?"  
  
The black bulk roared and stared at the three remaining figures that were backing away with a pair of flaming green eyes, blood and saliva oozing out of the sides of its enormous mouth.  
  
The man in a long, light grey greatcoat raised his shotgun to fire, but Fuzzy was upon him in an instant, biting the man's arms off at the elbow and swallowing the gun completely. Fuzzy's face was showered in the blood that rushed out of the stumps. The man staggered backwards, the stumps where his arms once were spewing out an awful lot of blood. But he never made a sound.  
  
Harrison's last companion suddenly tossed his cloak away, revealing a mass of flesh whips, some with bladed and hooked bits of bone at the end connected to the shoulders where its arms should be. It shuddered in excitement before leaping at Fuzzy. The black monstrosity roared at the bio- flagellant, the sound reminding Brooklyn somewhat of the T-Rex in Jurassic Park.  
  
As the bio-flagellant was in the air, a bolt of pale green lightning hit it full force in the chest and sent it flying back into a tree, hitting it and bending backwards like a doll with a disturbing crack. Rincewald stormed out of the brush an instant later, staff in his left hand with Brooklyn's pistol blazing at Chimera in his right. The high calibre rounds hit the thick armour covering Chimera's immense belly, several imbedding themselves in the thick metal while others ricocheted off randomly into the brush. The daemonhost moved to fire at him but Riana's flaming whip snapped out again, forcing it back. Rincewald suddenly turned his attention towards the daemonhost, his staff became totally enveloped in bright green flame as he whispered something Brooklyn couldn't make out; lighting up the entire clearing before the necromancer roared in the daemon's tongue and an arc of lightning shot out from the blazing staff head and struck the daemonhost; tearing its right arm and part of the shoulder off and hurling it into the brush. The daemonhost was thrown high into the air as it screamed wickedly at Rincewald, a bright trail of golden light seemed to flow like blood from the horrendous wound he had inflicted on it.  
  
Harrison swore as he raised his shotgun to his shoulder and took aim at the necromancer's back, but Brooklyn came at him suddenly, whipping the gun out of the rogue's hands with his tail before making an upward slash at him. Harrison sidestepped the attack, before coming in on Brooklyn, snapping out a left uppercut to the gargoyle's face before following it up with a right hook, snapping Brooklyn's head to the right, before bringing his left knee hard into his stomach. Brooklyn gasped and staggered back, his right hand pointing the sword towards Harrison, its flames now vanished while he wrapped his left arm around his waist as he tried to get his breathing under control again. The entire exchange had barely lasted more than a second.  
  
The shotgun had landed several feet away, near where the Black Sun lay. As Chimera roared and swung its halberd at Riana again, the woman dodged the clumsy attack with usual cat-like grace, leaping aside and rolling with the fall, bringing herself up quickly as she slid her kukri back in its leather scabbard and made a dive for the shotgun. She wrapped a lithe hand around it as she came rolling up again and turned to face Harrison's creation. Chimera bayed loudly at her while she saw Rincewald slam another clip into Brooklyn's pistol and cock it out of the corner of her eye to her left. She took several careful steps backwards, rolling her whip up one handed and sliding it into her belt while Chimera growled menacingly at her, stepping towards her slowly, its one remaining eye looking out at her in a dead fashion, while she stared back at it savagely.  
  
Chimera moved forward suddenly swinging its halberd around in a one handed downward arc. Riana rolled to her left, barely avoiding the blade. On her feet an instant later, she pressed the stalk of the Harrison's gun to her shoulder and fired off a round at Chimera, hitting an un-armoured section of its thigh; causing a small explosion of stinking blood and ichor around it leg. The beast roared in rage at her and swung again, but Riana had already dived aside, rolling along the ground and coming up beside Rincewald.  
  
Chimera roared again at the pair before coming at them head on. Riana and Rincewald took aim quickly and began to fire at the oncoming mound of defiled flesh; demonstrating near suicidal bravery as Chimera closed the distance in scant seconds, the shells ricocheting off its armour or tearing chunks of decaying flesh in between the joints, staining its armour in blood and ichor. Chimera stopped barely a meter before the pair, still standing defiantly before it. It roared and raised its halberd above its head in both hands. As it did so, Rincewald tossed his spent pistol to Riana and raised his staff above his head in both hands, screaming at the top of his voice in the daemon's tongue as Chimera brought the halberd down on them.  
  
There was a sudden explosion of green light around the necromancer and Riana and they were suddenly enveloped in a shield of energy. Chimera's halberd crashed down on the energy shield, and Rincewald was hard pressed to hold it as Chimera exerted immense pressure on its weapon to try and break his defence.  
  
As this was going on, Riana had dropped the empty shotgun and stuck her hand quickly in Rincewald's jacket pocket, pulling out another clip for the Desert Eagle. There was a clink as the spent clip hit the ground as she slid the fresh clip in and cocked the powerful handgun. She took the pistol in a two handed grip and aimed at Chimera's head, smiling sadistically.  
  
"Whenever you're ready Jerry."  
  
Rincewald roared at the top of his voice as he forced his arms up as high as he could. The energy field expanded suddenly with great force, throwing Chimera back before it dissipated. In that instant Riana fired.  
  
The 0.5 calibre round tore through the air before detonating Chimera's remaining eye, drilling through the skull, pulverising some of its brain, before exploding out the other end of its head in a spray of grey matter, blood, gristle and bone.  
  
Chimera head jerked upwards from the shot as it dropped its halberd and staggered backwards, emitting weak hisses and covering its face with its hands, but to the surprise of both Rincewald and Riana, Chimera did not die. It seemed to recover its balance before it screamed in rage at the world in general before Fuzzy came at it from its right, hitting Chimera with the force of a run away freight train. Chimera was lifted off the ground and crashed on its back. The black mass that was Fuzzy, shorter by two or so feet but a great deal wider, landed on top of it and began to try and tear Chimera's thick plate armour off with horrendously long claws, while snapping with its mouth at Chimera's throat.  
  
Chimera roared back at Fuzzy and struck him with a right cross, snapping the black monstrosity's head to the right, before trying vainly to wrap its talons around Fuzzy's throat and strangle him. They began to roll along the ground, splintering trees as they crashed into them while exchanging blows, slashes, bites and roars.  
  
Brooklyn took several more steps back; until he was several meters away from Harrison, who had yet to move, or for that matter, even draw a weapon. Brooklyn recovered his breathing and raised his sword in a two handed grip before him. Harrison made as if to draw his pistol but stopped suddenly and smiled as Brooklyn's blade was again enveloped in daemonic flame.  
  
"So gargoyle, you think you can handle a sword eh?" said Harrison, his smile becoming darker by the second. He slowly reached for the handle of his greatsword. "Let see how well you fare against this then."  
  
In one slow, fluid motion, Harrison drew his sword, and at once Brooklyn realised he may be out of his league with this man. The sword seemed bigger in the Inquisitor's hands, the handle was a foot and a half in length, and made of the finest ivory, with a finely cut emerald held in place by steel, cut to look like the claws of some predatory bird at the hilt. The hand guard was titanium, cut in great detail to the shape of a pair of daemonic heads. The blade itself was a good three-foot in length and serrated wickedly all along its edges. The blade was a sickly colour of green, with unusual, shimmering lines of bone white travelling up and down the blade, as it seemed to pulsate and shudder in its master's hands. Brooklyn stared at it in awe.  
  
Harrison had bound a daemon to it, an immensely powerful one, perhaps even a Prince.  
  
The rogue Inquisitor took a fighting stance similar to the one Brooklyn had taken, and advanced slowly, first one-step, and then another. Brooklyn stayed stationary, waiting to see what his opponent might try.  
  
Harrison made a sudden faint to the left, before swinging the immense sword as if it weighed nothing to Brooklyn's right. Brooklyn parried the attack, barely. Harrison made several more feints and slashes at considerable speed, the force of the attacks sending Brooklyn back. He made a sudden thrust, which Brooklyn knocked aside before going on the offensive, making a wild slash at Harrison's midriff, which the human skilfully evaded. They broke and circled before coming in again at each other, exchanging over twenty blows in a handful of seconds before their swords locked and they glared at each other over their flaming blades. The smell of the daemon around Harrison becoming ever stronger while Brooklyn felt the Inquisitor's blade shudder against his Katana. He could feel the daemon inside Harrison's blade as the sword glowed malevolently. He could feel the daemon roar at him within the blade, craving his soul.  
  
They broke and continued.  
  
Rincewald raised up a shield quickly as the daemonhost came at him again, throwing a energy blast at the necromancer while Riana stood ready with her whip out again; white fire running over its full length as the blast was deflected off Rincewald's defence and detonating a nearby tree; filling the air with flaming branches and splinters.  
  
The shield faded and Riana came at the daemonhost as it descended on them, her whip cracking out in her right hand at her enemy. The daemonhost avoided the whip this time and slashed at Riana's leg as it dived past her, with long, twisted claws that were on the end of its fingertips. Riana gasped in surprise as several large tears were carved both in her pants and deep into her flesh. She fell tumbling from the air and landed hard on her stomach as she dropped her weapons and grabbed her bleeding thigh, moaning in pleasure.  
  
The daemonhost hovered above her, ready to deliver the final blow, but Rincewald came at it again, hurling a ball of green flame at it. The host was enveloped completely, the talismans attached to its body actually began melting in the heat and searing the withered host as they dripped to the ground, burning the grass and soil where it landed. The daemonhost started flying around the clearing, screaming wildly as the magical flames ate away at it.  
  
Rincewald came at it again, his staff bathing the clearing in pale green flame as he fired, striking it in the left leg at the hip, blowing it off and sending it rolling along the ground as the unholy flames consumed it entirely. The daemonhost roared, a faint trail of energy hanging from where its leg once was. It began to circle the necromancer as both built up attacks.  
  
Harrison twirled nimbly on his feet, spinning the immense sword he held above his head, one-handed, before making a powerful swipe at Brooklyn, who parried and countered. Harrison dodged the attack and kicked Brooklyn in the gut. The gargoyle doubled over, nearly dropping his sword before he had to make a diving roll to the right as his opponent tried to decapitate him with a sudden downward slash.  
  
Brooklyn was up an instant later, trying to ignore the sudden discomfort his lack of breath was causing him as he darted in at Harrison, performing several complicated two-handed thrusts, slashes and parries against any counter Harrison tried to mount as the pair danced along the clearing, sparks flying in every direction as their swords clashed again and again while they filled the air with the clangs of tainted metal colliding. Their swords locked for a brief second yet again before they broke and stared at each other.  
  
Brooklyn stood, his entire body quivering from exhaustion while his dirt- encrusted shirt was damp from his sweat as he made vain attempts to control his breathing. Harrison stood several feet away, not showing any sign of tiring whatsoever.  
  
He spun his daemonsword in his hand idly, as he stared at the gargoyle mockingly.  
  
"Pathetic."  
  
He took a complicated fighting stance, holding his sword blade downwards in his right hand, sickening green flames running up and down along the serrated blade while he held his left hand out, open palmed.  
  
"Enough toying. You shall die now heretic."  
  
He came at Brooklyn, his fighting style completely changed. His attacks came at the crimson gargoyle from every possible angle, stronger than before, pressing him even harder. His arms aching as he tried to block and parry every attack while he was forced back several desperate steps at a time.  
  
And his speed...  
  
Harrison came at him; twirling around three times as he did so, each spin accompanied with an immensely powerful upward slash while his stormcoat flapped wildly around him. Brooklyn only had the strength to block the first, he had to stagger backwards as quickly as he could to avoid the other two, which he did, barely.  
  
Harrison laughed madly as he came in again, spinning his sword into ferocious downward arc. Brooklyn blocked and attempted a counter, knocking daemonsword away from him wildly before attempting a desperate two handed thrust. Harrison sidestepped the attack, spun on the heels of his boots as Brooklyn went on past him, unable to stop as he put too much momentum into his attack, and planted his right foot in the small of the gargoyle's back, just above the tail. Brooklyn roared in pain and surprise before he landed face first on the ground.  
  
He tried to get up, but Harrison kicked him hard in the ribs, knocking him over onto his back, sending his sword flying across the clearing where Rincewald and Riana were engaging Harrison's daemonhost.  
  
Brooklyn tried to sit up, his arm wrapped around his ribs protectively as he tried to control his breathing. His ribs were aching badly. Harrison kicked him roughly in the beak, breaking his nose and shooting his head back as his hands came up now to protect his bleeding face. He fell on his back again on the ground, moaning in agony.  
  
The Inquisitor brought his right foot down as hard as he could into his opponent's flat belly. Brooklyn doubled over, emitting a pained cough as he did so, but Harrison pressed his foot harder into his heavily scarred stomach, making it extremely difficult for the gargoyle to breathe.  
  
Harrison spun his sword around in his hand until the blade now faced upwards. He held its flaming, hooked point barely an inch from Brooklyn's throat. The sword visibly shuddered madly under Harrison's single-handed grip as Brooklyn could hear the daemon slaved within the blade actually roar within his head; thrilled at the kill to come.  
  
"My good friend Lux here hasn't fed in quite some time," said Harrison in a calm, matter-of-fact way. He drew his sword back for the kill thrust, aiming for the chest as Brooklyn struggled to get out from under the Inquisitor's foot. "Let's see if you can satisfy his hunger, shall we?"  
  
"RIANA!" Screamed Rincewald, as he hurled the daemonhost from him in a ball of flames; destroying more of its host body, yet being careful enough not to damage it so badly that the daemon might escape and become even more powerful.  
  
Riana turned her head in time to see Harrison raise his sword to plunge it in Brooklyn's heart. In an instant she had dropped her whip and was tearing the Desert Eagle that she had jammed in her belt out. She raised it in her hand as Harrison spoke to Brooklyn and pointed it at his head.  
  
He smiled triumphantly at Brooklyn and she fired.  
  
The bullet hit him in the temple; it tore through his skull and exploded out of the other side in what seemed like barely a billionth of a second later, spraying the nearby foliage and Brooklyn with his blood.  
  
The daemon within the sword became silent, and Inquisitor Benjamin Harrison collapsed to the ground on his side.  
  
Brooklyn, panting, his entire body shaking in terror and exhaustion, rolled from under where Harrison had been standing, and darted over to Riana, grabbing his sword from the ground as quickly as he could before spinning about and standing beside Riana. The woman was still pointing the pistol at their adversary's corpse. She seemed to be handling the situation with typical excitement.  
  
"Thank you," he managed to whisper after a few moments.  
  
"Oh it was my pleasure, believe me."  
  
There was a muffled explosion from behind them as more debris took to the air and Rincewald swore violently as Harrison's daemonhost went flying above the pairs' heads, encased in sickening green flames. Brooklyn turned his head towards Rincewald and past the necromancer, and saw the monstrosity that had been Fuzzy, and Chimera, wrestle along the ground together.  
  
Chimera managed to scramble on top and pinned Fuzzy on his back. It brought its right first back to punch the black monstrosity but Fuzzy was ready for it.  
  
When Chimera brought its fist down towards Fuzzy's face, the familiar opened its tremendous maw, Chimera's fist going down its gullet before it snapped its jaws shut. Its teeth pierced the bones in Chimera's arm, snapping them clean in two, maiming Harrison's creation. Chimera, with sections of its face and head messily removed both by Riana's gunshots and Fuzzy's talons, only roared and slashed at Fuzzy's face, spewing forth a small gush of blood as it slashed out one of the familiar's fiercely glowing green eyes.  
  
The familiar roared weakly and kicked Chimera off of it, sending the living mound of patchwork flesh into a few elm trees, splintering them as it did so. Fuzzy brought himself to his feet weakly, and staggered over to its master, whining almost like a dog. The daemonhost had moved beside Harrison's corpse and seemed to have lost interest in the trio.  
  
Fuzzy bowed its head down to Rincewald's height, and the necromancer patted it on the head, whispering kindly as he examined the eyeless socket and the blood flowing out of it.  
  
"There, there boy. You'll be okay."  
  
Brooklyn and Riana backed away from the daemonhost, which was now lingering near where Harrison lay. Behind them Rincewald glared at Chimera as the renegade Inquisitor's creation righted itself, and lumbered over to where its halberd lay now, picking the horrendous weapon up in it meaty left hand. What little remained of its head turned towards the group and made a threatening hiss. Brooklyn started edging towards the Black Sun, keeping his sword, now flaming again, pointed at the currently immobile daemonhost; which was staring again at the daemonic staff from where it hovered just above the ground; the energy trail emanating from where its leg had been scorching the earth and setting alight a few stray leaves that lay on the ground.  
  
There was a noticeable hissing sound in the air all of a sudden. Brooklyn paused and started looking around to see where it was coming from. He turned and saw Harrison's bio-flagellant stir on the ground from where it had been smashed against a tree. It awoke and looked over at them, its stitched face in a permanent smile while empty eye-sockets stared out at them, it began to thrash along on the ground, its back bent the wrong way, its legs perfectly limp. It started trying to crawl over to them, using its spiked bio-whips to dig into the ground before it before pulling itself along.  
  
He and Riana stared at it for a moment.  
  
"Fustis is a...rather...determined...character," gurgled a voice. Brooklyn, Riana and Rincewald turned their attention back to where Harrison had fallen. Fuzzy growled dangerously.  
  
Benjamin Harrison, who had been dead mere seconds before, was sitting up and smiling triumphantly at them. There was a neat circular hole where Riana's shot had entered his temple. Not so neat was where the bullet had exited, on the other side of his head. Needless to say, his left side was now not at its best.  
  
He tilted his head slightly, as the trio stared at him in, too stunned to actually do anything. His daemonhost hung near him as he reached out for his sword, his hand shaking almost uncontrollably.  
  
Riana was first to get over her shock. She didn't bother raising the gun though, guessing that it was fairly useless against Harrison, so instead she slid it back into her belt and reached down for her whip.  
  
"Neat trick Benny," she whispered as she rose again, she drew her kukri. The Inquisitor stood now, and his adversaries backed off several paces.  
  
"Brooklyn," whispered Rincewald firmly. "Get the Sun. We're leaving."  
  
The gargoyle didn't appear to be listening though. Instead he was raising his flaming blade before him and giving Harrison a predatory smile.  
  
"Brooklyn! I said we're leaving!"  
  
"Yeah, I heard ya," said Brooklyn, not bothering to look in the necromancer's direction. He looked Harrison in the eye. "What are you? Immortal?"  
  
"No," gurgled Harrison coldly. He took and unsteady step forward, swaying slightly. His head wound was healing far faster than either Demona or Brooklyn could ever hope to achieve. He started forward slowly towards Brooklyn. "I am...a...student...of biomancy."  
  
Brooklyn raised an eye ridge. "And that is?"  
  
"A new art," snapped Rincewald impatiently, his staff glowing again as his familiar came up directly beside him. "A mix of necromancy, daemonology and genetics. Now get over here!"  
  
Harrison came at Brooklyn suddenly, his apparent unsteadiness forgotten completely. Brooklyn had been expecting this though. As Harrison leapt forward, bringing his sword around for a hard right slash, Brooklyn drew his own sword back and attacked as well.  
  
Both blades, enveloped in flames the colour of sickly green and pale blue respectively came directly for each other, lighting up what little remained of the clearing from this encounter.  
  
There was an almost blinding flash of white light as both fighters summed up as much power as they could and channelled it into their swords. There was a small clap, as if like thunder far off in the distance while the sound of metal hitting metal at considerable force echoed in the air.  
  
Brooklyn's Katana; with its twelve inch handle and twenty seven inch long curved blade, with seven now flaming daemonic runes of power and endurance etched at even intervals along each side of the iron blade that had been folded upon itself one and a quarter million times...  
  
...was cut in two by Harrison's daemonsword like you would expect a hot knife to go through butter.  
  
There was a muffled clink as the vast majority of the blade, whose cost of construction was somewhere within the five figure range, hit the leaf and burning splinter covered centre of the clearing.  
  
Brooklyn staggered backwards, his jaw hanging as far down as physically possible while his hazel eyes refused to give their attention to anything other than the six and a half inches or so of blade that actually remained above the handle, which was currently melting slightly at the new top, further reducing the amount of actual blade capable of cutting even further.  
  
If Riana had not reacted when she did, chances are that Brooklyn would have been decapitated an instant later.  
  
Harrison, deciding to take advantage of Brooklyn's dropped guard, came in again, laughing and swinging his sword in an upward arc to finish the job. Riana had seen this and had moved forward quickly, grabbing Brooklyn roughly from behind by his belt and jerking him backwards. The gargoyle yelped in surprise as he was yanked backwards so hard he fell and landed on his rump as Harrison's blade missed him by mere millimetres.  
  
He landed a few inches from the Black Sun as a sickly green ball of flame enveloped the group when Rincewald had finished a chant. An instant later there was nothing left of the quartet or the daemonic staff but a scorched and flaming mark in the ground.  
  
Harrison walked up slowly to the flaming circle and stared at the centre for some time. He then threw his head back and bayed at the night like an enraged predator, as what was left of his retinue gathered around him.  
  
*****  
  
"That sounds like a wild animal," remarked Yuri casually as the rage filled roar echoed out across the burning fields. The others were standing around nearby, all looking out to where the fire was in the distance.  
  
She was leaning against a silver people carrier that had acted as their mobile base of operations for the past few days as they tracked Brooklyn's movements from Sudeny; which now had police crawling everywhere, trying to figure out just who had cause d such wholesale carnage. Anubis had told them that this place was supposed to have held some sort of ancient daemonic weapon of some description near here, one of three. He had a vague idea where the other two were. Somewhere in Russia, but he couldn't be sure of any exact locations.  
  
Yuri had wanted to take a plane to Russia immediately to start their search but Puck had thought it a better idea to travel by car, that way they at least had a small chance of running into Brooklyn early before he got near any other weapons; giving them a better chance of taking him on. Using as little magic as possible so as not to be detected they had gotten a rough idea of Brooklyn's trail and had followed it up to where they had suddenly seen flames in the distance from spreading fires on the wheat crops.  
  
"Did you feel that?" asked Anubis, stepping forward and uncrossing his arms.  
  
"Yeah," replied Puck. "Someone just used quite a bit of power to shift somewhere else."  
  
"Do you have any idea where?" asked Faulkner.  
  
"Fraid not Robby," replied Puck. "But whatever it was that drove them off is still there."  
  
"Could it be Brooklyn?" asked Yuri, standing up straight now and drifting to the side door that contained her bag, in which lay her Wakizashi shortsword.  
  
"No. It's...something else." Puck frowned. "But if that was Brooklyn and this person was strong enough to get him to retreat-"  
  
"Then he may be useful as an ally," finished Anubis.  
  
"No," said Yuri firmly. "Whoever it is, they're unstable. We couldn't rely on them."  
  
"But they seem to be after what we are after," said Genieve. Yuri glared at the woman who glared right back at her. The car trip had been rather uncomfortable for the men, as both women had taken an instant dislike of each other, which was turning into hatred far faster than Puck and the others had actually thought possible.  
  
"Genieve's right," stepped in Faulkner. "If they can be of any use to us then we should at least learn a little about them. They could be after the same thing we are."  
  
Puck looked out at the spreading flames along the fields, he could hear sirens off in the distance, getting closer with each passing minute. He stood there like this for a few moments, considering his options carefully.  
  
"Okay," he finally said. "We'll talk to them, see if we're on the same side. If they are then perhaps we can make some sort of deal with them." He paused and frowned. "But not here. We'll follow who ever it is for a little while, get an idea of where they're going and try and contact them in a day or two. We'll watch them first."  
  
The others, Yuri included, nodded in agreement, while Puck looked out into the night, hoping he wasn't making a mistake that could cost them their lives, or that of his care on the other side of the Atlantic.  
  
"Everybody back in the car! We're getting outta here before the cops show up!"  
  
Demona's Estate in Southern Germany  
  
Beyond the mansion where the clan were staying, some miles off to the North West, there was a fairly large forested area that ran up into several hills.  
  
On the far off end, several of the trees had been downed, while some others had actually been destroyed completely, littering the ground with ashes, scores of splinters and embers.  
  
Demona screamed another incantation as she outstretched her hands, throwing any idea of safety out the window as she hurled an energy blast at a nearby elm. The tree erupted in flames, its smaller branches being disintegrated in a matter of seconds.  
  
She had spent the past few days out here, away from them all, trying to dispense her rage at what had happened to her before she went near the clan again, but it seemed futile. This had always been a very effective way of venting her fury before, but it just couldn't work this time.  
  
The more she thought about it, her immortality, and the fact she was alive again as a punishment to someone else and nothing more, just made the rage boil up inside her even more so.  
  
And that witch! How could she hold something like this back? She was surely entitled to know something like this wasn't she?  
  
She was also angry with herself though for not figuring it out sooner. She had been so happy that she was alive again to see her daughter and her coming child that she hadn't really given it much thought as to why she was alive again. She had automatically assumed that as Macbeth hadn't shown up and was still buried that she hadn't been bound to anyone.  
  
The tree that she had unleashed her rage at toppled, spreading the fire and bringing other trees down as it fell, smashing into them and filling the air with burning leaves and splinters.  
  
She was immortal again. The very thought of it drove her near to madness. It would start all over again. She would have to watch all those around her grow old while she remained forever the same.  
  
She would watch Goliath growl old in front of her. She would watch Angela and Broadway grow old, and wither and die. She would watch their children follow suite. That was what was really bothering her, more than Jezebel's silence, more than the fact that she was now bound forever to an obsessive fool. It was the fact that she would watch the children of the clan grow older and older until they were frail and died, leaving the next generation to do the same.  
  
The more she thought about that the worse it sounded. She had survived the last thousand years by making as few connections with people as possible, the very fact that she was not the only one who had to go through this had given her some strength and had allowed her to remain fairly sane, that she was not alone in her suffering, that she never made any connections with anyone so as not to be torn apart when they finally died.  
  
But that was gone now. She was part of the clan again, and everyday she found herself becoming happier and happier at that fact. Fondness of them had eventually given way to filial love. She had finally found a family after all this time.  
  
And now she would outlive all of them by who knew how many millennia.  
  
She stopped herself, as she was about to lay waste to another tree.  
  
The Sisters, they had done this to her undoubtedly. They had wrecked her life yet again.  
  
They would pay dearly for doing this to her again, sentencing her to go through all those centuries of loneliness, just to punish someone else! How could anyone be so blatantly sadistic?  
  
She turned about in the direction of her German mansion, where the clan was probably waiting and worrying about her. They had actually come searching the woods for her the night after she left, trying to make sure she was okay. Jezebel must have told them why she had stormed out. She couldn't talk to them then though, she was just too angry at the time to trust herself to be near anyone else.  
  
She was still angry, but she was focusing it now.  
  
The Sisters had done this to her, and she would make them pay for it. Brooklyn could not be killed now as it was in her better interest to let him live for the moment, until she either could force them to reverse the spell while allowing her to live or unless he became such a threat to her family that she had no choice but to kill him.  
  
The lives of her daughter, her mate and their unborn child were more important than her own life after all.  
  
Demona scowled and destroyed one last tree before stopping her current rampage.  
  
She needed to keep her rage inside as best she could from now on. She could vent later, when all this was over and everything fixed as best as it could be. For the moment she had to make sure everyone was ready to leave as soon as possible. This had to be dealt with quickly, so that she could then turn her attentions to the Wyrd Sisters.  
  
"First Brooklyn, then the Sisters," she growled through gritted teeth. "And then I'm going to deal with Jezebel."  
  
She stalked back towards her mansion through the woods, animals of all sizes and shapes fleeing desperately from her, as the fire behind died down from a twist of her hand.  
  
To be continued...  
  
Additional Disclaimer: I don't own Nurgle; he is property of the Games Workshop, Citadel Miniatures, The Black Library and whatever other companies that are under the Games Worksop's heel. ( 


	16. Negotiations in a Garden

Negotiations

in a Garden

Author: Darkness

E-Mail: 

Author's note: Once again, the idea of daemonhosts, daemonswords, and anything else related to daemons as such come from the ideas of the sci-fi author Dan Abnett or "The Games Workshop" and all its subsidiaries. I do not do this for profit. I do this because I enjoy it.

Now...on with the fiction!

Demon's Estate in southern Germany 

Demona stood in near the centre of the dark, low ceilinged circular room. A few feet from her hovered the daemonhost Sin, bound in the corpse they had extracted from the devastated Czech town, its body covered in chains and talismans, while a thick chain that had been wrapped around its legs several times was fastened to the floor. The chain was slack as the daemonhost hovered down till the chains holding its arms that came from the walls prevented it from lowering itself any further. It looked down upon the azure gargess, the lingering of a smile upon its lips as it hovered two or so feet above the ground.

Demona looked up at the daemonhost, her face unreadable.

"We're leaving now," she stated flatly.

_Don't let me hold you back._ replied Sin.

"Is there anything you have left to say daemon?"

_Like what?_

"How about where the third weapon is?"

_Jezebel knows, she was paying attention you see. Why don't you just ask her?_

Demona growled. She hadn't spoken once to Macbeth's old servant since she had returned from the woods a little off from her mansion and had blatantly ignored Fang and Malibu as well.

They hadn't told her everything, they hadn't told her what _she_ needed to know and so she now wanted as little as possible to do with them.

_Oh...still a little bitchy about that eh?_

Demona's eyes flared as she looked up at the smirking daemon, murder in her eyes. "I hope you don't think you're coming with us you filthy hell spawn. You're staying here where you can't do any more damage."

_Of course, of course._ Whispered the daemon telepathically. It smiled at her. _As you say so my dear._

Demona ignored that and turned about on her feet and strode towards the door. "This place will be cemented in when I return," she said, not looking back at the Sin once. "The entrance way will be filled. _All_ the lower rooms will be filled. You will never leave this room daemon. You will never hurt or lead astray anyone else again."

_Of course. How noble of you._

Demona did not reply. She walked up to the door and turned the handle. Sin's host body would last forever, as long as the daemon was kept within it. The talismans would see to that. It would never escape on its own, and when she got her hands on the _Malus Codicium_ she would destroy the filthy thing and with it gone Sin's name would be lost and it could never be summoned by any again.

_Before you leave Demona. I would like to say something to you._

Demona stopped halfway out the door. "What is it daemon? I'm keeping everyone back as it is."

_Don't kill Brooklyn._

"I know I can't already-"

_But you can kill him. It's just that you will die too._ Stated Sin, a hint of urgency now creeping into its voice. _What I am telling you is that you must not kill him. Both he and you must not die yet. It doesn't matter how much you want to or how much you think it necessary. You two_ must _survive. I must not tell you more, the fact I am saying anything at all is enough to get me punished most severely by my masters. _

"Then why say anything at all?"

Sin grinned. _Because I hate them. Why else?_

Demona nodded and turned to leave. "Goodbye Sin. You and I shall not speak again."

The door closed quietly, its _click_ followed a second later by the turning of a lock.

Sin looked at the door. The lights began to fade until everything was black. Sin smiled in the darkness.

_But I will meet you again Demona, and speak to you. And when we do meet, you shall be glad to see me._

A warehouse eight miles outside of Luga, Russia: One day later 

The warehouse had previously been that of a major chemical giant that had been owned by the Soviet Union, but after both it and the firm collapsed, it had drifted from one owner to the other over the years. It was a fairly large as warehouses go. It had a flat roof on which rested a nest of air ducts, over hanging windows and fans. The grey paint was peeling off the cracked walls; the main entrance to the place was a pair of very badly rusted three-inch thick steel sliding double doors. It was a decaying reminder of a previous era that many claimed was better, though few wanted to return to.

Despite its dilapidation, it was built conveniently beside the river Luga, which flowed into the town of the same namesake. It was also built near an access point to the still functioning rail system that the previous era had created and maintained, and was away from any main roads.

The renegade Inquisitor Harrison had found the place to be perfectly suited to his needs. A new tidal generator had been installed across the river a year and a half ago, when he had first discovered this place. It provided him with all the power he could possibly need, while the rail junction could allow him to transport any "goods" he either needed or made to and fro without much difficulty or chance of observation.

Inside the warehouse Benjamin Harrison sat, muttering incomprehensible things to himself, as he attempted to repair the damage done to Chimera by Riana and her gang of heretical thugs.

Chimera was laying on its back, stripped completely of its armour and clothes, lying on a large, heavily reinforced titanium table that had an automated fulcrum underneath that allowed the table to be tipped into both vertical and horizontal positions.

What had been left of Chimera's right arm had been removed from the shoulder; resulting in a flow of blood and vile smelling bodily fluids coming out of the wound that Harrison did not seem to notice. He himself was stripped to the waist, revealing a pale, yet very powerfully built abdomen that was laced all over with very deep and hideous scars. On closer inspection though, one might have seen a sort of pattern to them. They looked almost like symbols or runes of a sort, carved so deep into the flesh that they creased it inwards wherever they were. Some were even along his shoulders and his arms, evenly spaced down powerful muscles, ending with a single, but large one etched into the back of his hand.

He was completely soaked through with blood and fluids, even his hair had not escaped from the outflow of Chimera's wounds, and was now blackish red and crusted where it had once been greyish white and clean. He had carried over an arm he had kept in cold storage for his creation in case some damage had been done and a replacement was needed.

There were fresh cuts, some exceptionally deep, criss-crossing his back, as if he had been tortured by several spiked cat-o-nine-tails. They were part of his daily ritual of cleansing, a process in which he had his bio-flagellant named Fustis whip him as he administered his morning prayers and partook of the Eucharist. The bio-flagellant's snapped spine had been administered to the previous night so that he may have the spiked whips punish him in the morning for his failure to stop Riana. He had cleansed himself on a daily basis ever since he had liberated the Doctrine from the Inquisition, so that no daemons' temptations could brake through his Christian fortitude. The pain, he was sure, drove the evil away from him and kept him sane and on the right path.

This arm, like the rest of Chimera's flesh, had undergone heavy treatment from animal steroids and preservatives. It was ochre in colour. Harrison laid it down beside the slumbering Chimera and, taking his steel cords and opening the proper section of the Doctrine that was at his side during all his procedures, he began to chant, while stitching the flesh of two different gargoyles together.

As he chanted and sowed, veins and severed nerves sought their corresponding side out and merged together at his will. This time parts of the dead flesh, now alive by unnatural power actually began to weld together weakly in some parts, but they would not be strong enough on their own to support the huge weight of the new, fleshy arm and the armour that would need to be replaced as well. This made the steel cords a necessity, and he used reams of it in very generous amounts to attach the new limb to his masterpiece.

He growled something under his breath as his head jerked involuntarily to the left. It had been doing that for a while now, ever since Riana had shot him in the temple to be precise. Yet another heinous act to add to the list of crimes that she had committed against him. Just something else to make her pay for. The teachings of the Doctrine, those on the proper administration of chants, potions and special exercises of the mind, the body and the soul, along with the carvings on his body, had allowed him to survive the gunshot to his head and be almost totally healed in a matter of minutes.

It was akin to why the daemonhost had never turned on him, even when he had been brought down from the headshot. Both were a question of willpower.

There were many workbenches and tables scattered across the vast space of the inside of the warehouse, littered with weapons, including Chimera's halberd and Harrison's daemonsword, named Lux, implements of torture, medical equipment, both crude and advanced, jars of chemicals. There was a steel door not far from where Harrison was working that led to a cold storage locker that contained the remains of the two gargoyle kill-teams that had tried to stop him, they were all suspended up by meat hooks, the majority with large parts of their abdomens missing, along with limbs and internal organs while a couple had yet to even be touched. A few meters away from the table on the opposite side of Harrison was a wide iron trapdoor that was well polished and covered in daemonic runes of containment.

That was where his daemonhost, its body repaired by parts of some of the gargoyles was resting. There had been two females in the teams sent against him and he had picked the most beautiful parts to replace the damage done to his beloved wife's body but they still paled in comparison to her beauty. He had often told her of how she could put even the most beautiful of flowers to shame and even after all the years since her death, her beauty still held fast.

Bryon, his former friend and now one of his experiments lay stretched out on an operating table, stripped to the waist and missing his arms from were they had been bitten off by that by that bizarre daemon creature that had seemed to materialise out of no-where during Harrison's attempt at destroying Riana once and for all. Harrison had yet to decide what to do with Byron or how to improve his eyeless friend. He was sure however, that he could think of something before he set out after Riana the others that accompanied her.

He had buried the remains of James Farrell, who had been bitten in half by the same creature that had incapacitated Byron and maimed Chimera at dawn near the river outside. He had dug a good, deep grave for his friend and had read some of his favourite psalms over the mound, before promising vengance to his former friend, despite the fact he turned on him along with Byron and tried to stop him doing as God bid him do for just revenge.

After Chimera's arm had received all the proper treatment and the equipment had been sterilised in preparation for the next procedure, the replacing of the sections of flesh that had been damaged from shotgun rounds; Harrison decided to pray for an hour or more. As he rose from the raised chair that he had been sitting on while administering to Chimera's arm, he reached over for a towel and rubbed off some of the blood and fluids from his face. He walked away from the table and headed to what had once been the room for the manager that he had converted to a private chapel. As he was halfway there, he happened to cast a glance at the steel sliding doors. There was a tiny space between the concrete ground and the rusted steel. Between them a small folded piece of white paper had been pushed.

He observed it for a moment before tossing the towel on a nearby table and reaching over for the nearest available weapon on the same table, which was in this case, his daemonsword.

The second he touched the handle of the blade, the Daemon Prince Lux tried to lash out at him, as it had been doing for the past eight months since he had summoned and bound it to his greatsword. As usual, Harrison's will beat down the daemon contemptuously.

He strode over to the double doors, holding the daemonsword in a loose two-handed grip. He stopped a few feet from the door and held out his left hand while his right's grip around the handle of the sword tightened. He made a sweeping gesture with his free hand and the doors slid opened quickly, filling the air with ruckus of screeching metal before crashing against the barriers that prevented them from sliding off their tracks completely.

Harrison strode out into the open, concrete laid grounds surrounding his home, looking around warily. There was steel, electrified fences that surrounded his home on all sides, with the power cables from the hydroelectric generator being attached to his equipment from underground. If the exterior generator had been disabled, an alarm would have been activated immediately while a small back-up generator would have been activated immediately that would have kept the power inside running for at least a couple of hours.

He looked out past the fences in his field of vision. Grass, long and unkempt, swayed in the evening breeze while the air was filled with the gentle rustling of the leaves of the trees growing by the river. It was getting close to twilight; the clouded sky was taking on a hint of greyish blue as he could make out a fiery orange orb that was the sun far off in the distance begin it slow, inexorable descent behind the plain hills on the other side of the river. He stood, momentarily lost in the absolute beauty of the scene around him, a tear running down a wrinkled cheek as his thoughts drifted to his wife, remembering bitterly how they had made it a tradition to watch the sun go down from their home for almost everyday of their twenty two years of marriage. Seeing that there was no one near, he turned about and walked unsteadily over to the paper. He picked it up quickly and unfolded it one handed as he walked back into the warehouse, the double doors sliding shut behind him as he read the note.

_Dear Sir, _

_It has come to our attention that you and us seem to have a similar goal in mind, that being the prevention of the gargoyle and those who seem to be helping him which we know you encountered two days ago. We would have given assistance but we arrived a little too late, and were a little unsure as to what side you were on. _

_However, after watching your activities for a little while, we suspect that we could both benefit from combining resources. If you are interested in meeting with us, please be at the Rodyin Memorial gardens at the city centre tomorrow at 9:00pm._

_We look forward to meeting with you._

_Some friends._

Harrison crumpled the note in his hand as he looked back over his shoulder to the doors he had just entered. He then looked around the interior of the warehouse. He tapped his foot thoughtfully for a moment before going back to finish his work on Byron. He had gotten an idea for his friend's repairs.

The Rodyin Memorial Gardens, Luga: the next day: 8:56 pm 

The memorial gardens were based in the town centre, about a hundred or so meters from the river, somewhat like a central park. They were roughly an acre square and consisted of several richly colourful garden sections, cut apart by pathways of sand coloured pebbles, all leading from the corners before coming together in a circle around the cenotaph dedicated to the thirteen thousand or so soldiers who died in the city's defence during the beginning stages of the Nazi invasion in 1941. An island of colour in an ocean of greys.

The sun was slowly setting, turning the sky the colour of fiery red as it slowly began its descent behind the buildings of the small city, the colours spreading out to the grey clouds, giving those nearest to the sunset an almost flaming golden aura.

Puck and Anubis stood side by side, looking over the cenotaph. Over the rather beautiful epitaph done by a local poet written in bronze on the front of the cream coloured marble structure someone had spray-painted in neon yellow "I eat cunts for breakfast!" in scrawled, dripped writing. Anubis looked around. Between each pathway leading to the cenotaph from the corners were four wooden benches. Underneath several were some empty beer bottles, rapping from takeaways, burnt out cigarette butts, an old newspaper...

He stopped and stared at a used condom in utter disbelief.

He growled inhumanly, as his fists clenched so hard the skin began pale. "Have these people no respect?" He started looking out around at the gardens, suddenly becoming aware of gaps in the flows every now and then, spread out randomly throughout, where flowers had been pulled up from the ground or crushed down from where drunks had obviously collapsed on top of them. The wooden benches, all painted a dark shade of green had shaky and barely comprehensible messages scrolled over much of them. Those few he could read only fuelled his growing anger.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and turned to look at Puck. The Fey trickster gave him an understanding look. "It's just the younger generations Anubis. Letting booze think for them."

"I don't care what generation does this or what excuse they use. It's deplorable. I've never seen such total disrespect for life or for the sacrifices of the past."

"Don't get out much do you?"

Anubis glared at him before looking back at the cenotaph. "I don't like being out in this world. I prefer to look out on them from afar, at their achievements and supposed advances, because as soon as I'm out among them and can get a closer look I see that they never change. There is as much respect for life now in these people now as there ever was. I want to think highly of mankind, I really do, I like to think that they're deep down a good people and that they deserve our respect, but the only way I can do that is if I look at them from a massive distance so that I can't make out the real details."

Puck sighed sadly. He looked around the gardens and circled the cenotaph for the eighth time in the past several minutes, picking up more scrawled writings sprayed elsewhere on the marble, some of which would have made him burst out laughing if it weren't for his present company. He and Anubis had always been good friends, despite the fact they looked at the world differently at times. Puck would never have admitted it to anyone but at times he often thought the Egyptian Fey looked at things from a slightly naive perspective.

He looked around yet again, this time outside of the gardens at the streets. It was beginning to get darker, but not yet enough for the street lights to be switched on. Cars, vans and lorries drove on along the roads while the pavement was still well populated with pedestrians. The shops were all still open and likely to remain so for at least a couple of hours more. He looked over to one of the corner shops and saw Yuri among the crowd. The Eastern Fey, still in the clothes she had worn when they had met in Paris, was among the people, trying to blend in but standing out rather like a white viper would in a clutch of brown rabbits. Genieve and Robert were also mingling, doing a much better job than Yuri was. He was actually having difficulty spotting them.

"Do you think he will come?" asked Anubis, not turning his head to look at him but instead keeping his gaze fixed on the defiled cenotaph before him.

Puck shrugged. "Maybe. I hope so. If he is as powerful as we suspect then we could deal with Brooklyn quickly, before he has a chance of growing stronger."

"I would like to have known more about him before we established contact."

"I suppose so, but I think you'll agree that we don't have much time."

Anubis grumbled something, folding his arms. He still maintained his human appearance, dressed in dusty old travel robes while Puck had switched to a more plainer dark green shirt to go with his blue jeans, brown boots and black leather jacket, bedecked in badges.

They stood for several minutes in an uncomfortable silence before Puck noticed a man, followed by two others dressed in long cloaks with hoods attached and pulled over their heads emerge out of the crowd and head towards them.

"Hello. Anubis! We've got company."

The Egyptian Fey looked over to where Puck was gesturing. He frowned darkly as the man stopped a few feet away from them, his followers staying back at a respectable distance. The gentleman took a step forward to offer his hand, but Anubis found himself withdrawing back from him almost without realising it. There was something about this man he found indescribably repulsive.

The man, whose age seemed to be between mid forties or very early sixties, looked somewhat offended before Puck jumped to his friend's rescue, coming in between them and taking the man's black leather gloved hand and shaking it vigorously.

"Hello there! My name's Puck! And this is my very good friend Anubis! We're-"

"I know what you are Fey," growled Benjamin Harrison. His grip tightened around Puck's hand considerably, so much so that Puck actually found himself gritting his teeth. "You wish to do a deal with me? Then speak! We have little time as it is and I don't want to waste any on fairies!"

He released Puck's hand and the Fey trickster took a step back, looking over Harrison carefully. "Before we start anything I think we should know your name."

"I am Benjamin Harrison. Inquisitor, sorcerer, soldier, take whichever of those titles as you wish to address me by but know this. I am an instrument of God's wrath and I will meet any disrespect given to me with a bullet. Now talk."

"My, my," said Puck, a wry smirk slipping across his lips. "Your touchy."

"And you are from an aloof race of debauchery and decadence. What is it you want from me?"

"I want to make you an offer," replied Puck.

Harrison looked him over suspiciously for a moment. "Go ahead."

"We've come here to put a stop to a gargoyle," began Puck. "He used to be a friend of mine, but lately he seems to have lost his marbles. He's been running around Europe, killing people and trying to find some sort of daemonic super weapons to kill our King with."

"I see," said Harrison. "I encountered him two days ago. He had some sort of daemonstaff that amplifies the user's magical prowess considerably, although I never gave him a chance to use it. A fat gentleman with some kind of daemonic creature accompanies him, extremely dangerous, it did the vast amount of damage to my men. There's a woman with them aswell." He paused, as his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. He looked at Anubis and Puck. "You wish to work with me do you not?"

Puck nodded but Anubis said nothing. He was staring behind Harrison, at the two who accompanied him, with pity and horror.

Puck seemed to sense that something was wrong with his friend and looked around at him. "Anubis? Are you alright?" he turned around to look at Harrison. "Would you excuse us for a moment?"

Harrison frowned but nodded almost understandably. Puck smiled quickly and went over to Anubis, who seemed to have been slowly backing off from them while they had talked. He took the Egyptian Fey by the shoulder and led him away from Harrison and his men a few meters to the other side of the cenotaph. He stopped only to find that Anubis was still staring at Harrison's two companions. Puck glanced over at them too. Neither had moved at all since they had arrived behind Harrison.

He turned to look back at his friend. "What is it buddy? What's wrong with them?"

Anubis finally took his stare off of Harrison's companions and looked directly at Puck. "They shouldn't be."

Puck frowned, hoping Harrison wasn't in hearing distance. "What do you mean?"

"They shouldn't be alive! They're dead but, yet...they aren't."

"What do ya mean? They're undead?"

"No," whispered Anubis desperately and shaking his head. "It's not that, it's something else. This man... he's not right. I can't place my finger on it exactly, but there is something desperately wrong about him. Don't tell me you haven't felt anything?"

Puck frowned but said nothing. It was true, he had felt something unusual about this man as he approached but he had put it aside because they needed his help.

"I don't want to work with him," whispered Anubis suddenly, a trace of desperation edging into his voice. "I don't want to work with this man Puck. I...I can't."

Puck stared at him, stunned. "What?"

"I don't want to work with him."

"Anubis, we need his help."

"We do not need _his_ _kind_ of help."

Anubis slipped out of Puck's grip and actually grabbed his friend by the shoulders and brought him forward suddenly. "No good will come of working with him," he whispered, the desperation becoming more pronounced with each word. "We...we can contact the court, get Oberon to deal with this personally."

"But Yuri's right. They'll be a scandal and–"

"Fuck the scandal!" Anubis almost yelled. "At least we won't be indebted to that man!"

"Anubis-"

"His power is great Puck. I don't deny that but his mind Puck! Yuri is right he's not stable. We..._please_ Puck. _Please_, I don't want to work with him."

Puck suddenly found himself getting angry. This was ridiculous! The fate of Avalon, and potentially Alexander could be at stake and Anubis was being picky over who they should work with?

Anubis seemed to understand that Puck was getting angry over his reluctance. He looked down at the ground and sighed sadly. "Can't I say anything to change your mind?"

Puck shook his head. "He's powerful. He could do the fighting for us. We'd only have to clean up afterwards. Daddy Oberon might not need to know at all and whatever he wants in return...well, we could just do the usual."

"That won't work with him," said Anubis, still not looking up at his old friend's face. "Whatever it is he wants we'll have to keep our side of the bargain. He's too powerful to double-cross."

"Well, power's one thing. Intelligence is another."

Anubis nodded but still wouldn't look up at Puck. Puck thought this adequate and made to go back towards Harrison but Anubis held on to his arm for a moment longer. "There's evil around him."

Puck sighed this time. "I know. But if we can use him properly then Alex and Oberon will be safe and we'll have nothing to fear." He came close and patted his friend on the shoulder encouragingly. "Whatever comes, I'm positive we can control this man. He looks bright but we have millennia of experience on our side." He paused to grin mischievously. "When we're done with him we'll dump him so fast that it'll make his head spin."

Puck's grin grew when he saw the slightest hint of a smile forming across Anubis' lips. "Okay Puck. If, if you're sure of this then I'll work with him. You've more experience in trickery than I. I trust that you'll be able to get us out of this."

Puck nodded and went over to where Harrison was waiting. The human was looking them over slowly, as if sizing them up for something. "Well? Are we ready now?"

"Yes," said Puck. "We are now quite ready."

"Excellent. Let's make the negotiations simple. You wish to ally with me?"

"Yes."

"Then here are the rules. When we catch up with them you and your lackeys are not to touch the woman. She's mine and mine alone. Do you understand?"

"Yep."

"Two, I don't need your help. It's you who needs mine. As such I want you to give me something for my services."

Puck frowned. "And what, pray tell, do you want?"

"You come from Avalon?"

"Yes," said Puck, becoming wary. "Why?"

Benjamin Harrison smiled darkly. "I have heard from more than one text that the Fey keep one of the most spectacular of libraries in the world. I would like access, both to Avalon and its library."

"Now wait one minute!" started Anubis. "You can't possibly expect us to-"

"Agreed," said Puck quickly.

Anubis growled inhumanly, as one of his arms shot out and grabbed Puck by the back of his leather jacket. He started roughly dragging the Fey trickster back to where they had argued moments before, not caring what Harrison thought of the scene.

He spun Puck around to face him. "Are you mad?! We can't possibly let someone like him on Avalon!"

"Why not? It might be kinda fun."

"What? To grant him access to the library? To all our collected knowledge? To God only how many magical tomes? Who knows what someone like him would do with access to such power! And then there's Titania and Oberon. If one of them doesn't kill us for this then the other will!"

"Hey, my good half-jackal buddy." Whispered Puck coolly, as his face turned mischievous. "Relax for once. I said I could handle him didn't I? Despite all that power, he is still only human. I promise you. He'll never get even one foot on Avalonian soil."

He turned about and strode over to Harrison again before Anubis could even protest. Harrison had his arms folded. It was obvious his patience was running thin.

"Well?" he asked briskly. "Have you and your friend sorted everything out now? My terms are non-negotiable so it's a simple matter of a yes or a no."

"Yes," said Puck immediately. "You help us take down the gargoyle and his friends and I shall personally ensure that you have access to Avalon and it's library."

"Good," said Harrison. He produced a small notebook from a pocket from the long brown greatcoat he was wearing with a small pen attached to the front cover. He took off the pen and opened the notebook and scribbled down something before tearing the page out and handing it to Puck. "Meet me at this spot at noon in two days time. I shall have completed my preparations to move by then. Do not contact me in that time. I shall meet those other three people doing such a poor job of blending into the crowd then. Good day to you."

With that Harrison turned about and walked down one of the gravel pathways, the two cloaked figures falling in behind him.

Anubis growled and crossed his arms. "This is a very bad idea Puck. I dare say we'll suffer for this whatever happens."

"Relax Anubis. I know what I'm doing."

Harrison turned first one corner and then another. His van was parked several blocks away from the meeting place. The crowds unconsciously parted for him and his two companions.

"They plan to trick me," he said, as they continued their walk. His two cloaked companions, Byron and Fustis, who had his bio-whips wrapped around his chest, said nothing, for their lips had been sown shut some time ago.

"Well, we shall go along with them, for the moment anyway. They could be useful to us in some respect."

They turned another corner and walked down a more open street. Harrison crossed himself as he passed a church.

"It is when this fiasco is over and their usefulness expires that I shall gain access to Avalon." He paused in his walking. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That Fey, the one was doing all the talking, I shall show him that it is not only in humanity's interest that I gain access to the library. It is God's Will." He smiled then, a confident smile you might expect to see on anyone who _knows_ they're right. "He'll show me. If I have to torture it out of him then that is only a minor inconvenience. And after all, pain does cleanse the soul and I suspect that he is guilty of many sins. Therefore I shall be doing him a service really."

He brightened up considerably as he started walking again, picking up the pace so that his companions had to struggle to keep up.

There was so much to do now! So much to prepare for the journey!

He made the last turn before coming up to his van. Fustis and Byron got in the back via the sliding door on the side. Harrison slammed the door and got into the front, keying the ignition.

"God's will be done. And it shall be. Through me, and me alone."

He pulled the van off the curb and headed back to his warehouse to make all the necessary preparations.

To be continued...

Well I hope this part proved adequate. No violence I'm afraid but I shall try to make up for that in future chapters. ï

As usual comments, suggestions, questions etc, are all very welcome. Hopefully I should be able to manufacture the next part in a few weeks time.

Until then!

Darkness 

=][=


	17. Encounter in St Petersburg

Encounter in 

St. Petersburg

Author: Darkness

E-mail: 

Author's note: I am very sorry to those who I may have kept waiting for the next part for so long. I'm afraid that I'm just not very good at writing small chapters. J

And another good excuse is that I'm preparing for college (God help me)!

Enjoy the fic!

St. Petersburg 

It was lunchtime in the Great Russian city. As such the streets were lined with people making their way along the pavements, heading to cafes, restaurants to eat, or perhaps to the shops to do a few quick errands before getting back to work. Cars and trucks trundled along the crowded roads, under the careful supervision of the militia, the city's police force.

The air was damp from the previous night's rain that had washed away the snow, creating great puddles along dips worn into the pavement or along the edges of the roads, beneath parked cars. The sky was covered with white clouds that had yet to part so that the sun could shine down on the city.

Atop one of the several bridges that stretched over the canal were three people who were leaning on the old stone rails. A young man, a young woman, and an older man, who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties.

They were all dressed in farmer's clothing. The girl, who looked to be in her very early twenties, was in a plain brown cotton dress with white frilled sleeves, which were contrasted by a pair of very muddy black combat boots. She had a shy face with a button nose and very light green eyes. Her hair was ash blonde and in a small ponytail. She did not appear to like her current set of clothes very much.

The older man seemed more at home in his outfit. He wore brown trousers to go with his slightly too big black shoes with a simple cream, coloured shirt and brown jacket. He had no tie but had the top button of his shirt undone. He had a gruff face, was of medium height and fat. He had bushy, connected black eyebrows atop a pair of ancient sky blue eyes, along with a very short black beard that was connected to his moustache, while he had a neatly cut crop of short black hair on his head.

Between the pair the young man stood, leaning over the rail and looking into the murky brown waters of the canal that ran through St. Petersburg. He was very young, about eighteen or nineteen. He was thinly built but muscular, with a long shock of cotton white hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail. He was quite handsome by human standards, with high cheekbones and very clean skin. He looked down into the waters with a pair of hazel eyes that held considerable amounts rage and intelligence in almost equal measure. He was dressed quite plainly in clothes that seemed to have been designed for a larger person; a pair of earth brown trousers like his other male companion was wearing, along with a cream coloured shirt of cotton with a closed brown waistcoat. He had a brown farmer's cap on his head that actually looked quite good on him. The top button of his shirt was undone, so that part of a silver chain necklace could be seen. He was wearing a pair of black shoes that he seemed very uncomfortable in.

The young woman was to his right from the way he was leaning and the older man was to his left, also looking over the side while the woman had her back turned to the water and was looking past a decrepit and small, red car that had acted as their mode of transport for the past few days, which was parked in a turn in by the side walk. It was muddied all over. It was one of those mass produced pieces of rubbish that the Soviet Union had churned out that rarely worked at all. It was similar in design to a mini. She was looking out into the road along the bridge, watching the cars and trucks flow past and the lunch time crowds walk along the side walk, all going somewhere with some purpose or another.

"Rincewald," said the young man, as if testing the name out. He looked over to the older man. "How the Hell did you get that name anyway?"

Jeremiah Rincewald, necromancer and guardian of the Black Sun daemonstaff looked over at Brooklyn. "Well," he started. "I once read a book with this wizard that had a similar name so I decided that's what I'd be called, at least for a little while."

Brooklyn smiled. "So what you're saying is that you _picked_ that name?"

"Yes. Why?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "It just seems a little daft if you ask me."

"Well I didn't ask you," said Rincewald flatly. "It just seemed different from most of the names I've taken. I just wanted something different for once."

"Hence Fuzzy?"

Rincewald nodded. "Exactly." He sighed. "When you have lived as long as Riana or I have had, chances are that you've tried everything there possibly is to try and very little of it commits to memory after a while. So you start doing things differently. Going under unusual names, doing unusual jobs…"

"Resorting to having sex with dead bodies," stepped in Riana, still looking out into the road. "Well…that's what some of the more pathetic of us resort to."

Rincewald glared at the back of her head. "Riana, my personal life is of absolutely no business to you at all. So keep your fucking comments to yourself. Okay?"

Riana replied by sticking a hand up and giving Rincewald the finger. The necromancer growled something under his breath before looking down into the water, saying nothing.

Brooklyn looked back down into the flowing water before deciding to ask something else.

"How old are you?"

Rincewald looked up from the water and at the gargoyle turned human. "How old?" He sighed and returned his gaze to the water.

"That's a tough one." He seemed to ponder on an answer before he looked up at Riana, who still watched the road. "How old would you say we are Riana?"

"I try not to think about it," stated Riana. "So I don't really know. We're old though. We've been almost since the beginning. You might want to ask Furcifer. He's the oldest of us guardians."

"Is he now?" said Brooklyn.

Riana nodded. "He picked us to guard the weapons, one for each. Told us to place them where we wanted and to keep them safe until those who thought they could handle them came along and contested for them."

Brooklyn grinned. "And they all failed except for me."

"No," stated Rincewald. "Not all of them failed."

Brooklyn turned his head to stare at the necromancer. "What did you say?"

Rincewald stood up straight and glanced over at Brooklyn. "I said not all of them failed," he remarked casually.

"Could you perhaps be a little more specific?"

"Well," began the necromancer. "Though no one has ever claimed the staff, the other weapons, the Lack of Conscience, the gauntlets that are here somewhere and the sword. They have all been claimed by some people."

"Define 'some people."

"Well," said Rincewald. "Every now and then in history some of the most extraordinary individuals have come along, and some of them, the ones who have felt pain or suffering of some degree and want vengance, either against one individual or against the world in general, get wind of them."

Brooklyn looked at Rincewald, stunned. The necromancer continued.

"The weapons were originally scattered across the earth at the beginning. But gradually over time, as different people were able to lay claim to the others successfully, they all began to make their way on to this continent." Rincewald turned about and lent his back on the stone rail. Brooklyn had started staring into the waters as he took all this in.

"Now the way the guardianships works," continued Rincewald. "Is like this. We'll take the gauntlets you're here to claim as an example. They were originally based in…" he paused and looked over at Riana. "Was it Korea?"

"Bangladesh," stated Riana automatically.

Rincewald nodded thanks and continued.

"They were only ever successfully claimed by about four people."

"With the aid of Iieo?" asked Brooklyn, referring to the daemon now known as Sin.

"Actually only one or two have received Iieo's guidance," replied Rincewald. "Some of them were led to them by other means. Hard to explain precisely. They just got…a feeling you might call it." He shifted, suddenly becoming a little uncomfortable. "Anyway. Once one of the weapons are claimed then their position is obviously no longer secure. Eventually, despite all our best efforts, usually the claimers are killed, or the weapons turn on them when they loose the will to continue for some one reason or another." He glanced over at Brooklyn, who still looking over into the waters of the canal for the briefest moment. "Of course…we've never had an immortal try this before. That's new." He saw Riana glare at him out of the corner of his eye, warning him.

"But none of them were the Anointed either," she growled under her breath, while her light green eyes stared dangerously into his sky blue. "None of them were the chosen."

"So what happened to the weapons after they'd been found and the wielder was killed?" asked Brooklyn. Rincewald glanced over at the gargoyle turned human. He seemed to have a smile on his face as he looked into the water now. He looked back over at Riana. The woman nodded grudgingly to continue. But there was still that danger lingering in her eyes.

He would have to watch his tongue from now on.

"Well," he began. "After the wielder was killed, the guardians can pick a new location for the weapon to be hidden. The last time the gauntlets were moved, they had previously been in the Gobi desert. The man who had claimed them successfully got on a boat and went to Europe to try and take the staff." He paused. "But something must have happened to him on that blasted boat. He decided to go on a killing spree. He used the gauntlets to make a plague and it rampaged through the ship, killed the crew, and left him and the guardian stranded on a bloody boat neither knew how to work. Gregor, the guardian, sensing that this gentleman was obviously not who he was supposed to be, waited for him to die of dehydration, stuck the gauntlets in a bag, and swam North. Once he got to land, he just wandered for a decade or two till he came to this little city. So he set up here."

"Why here though?"

"I think he preferred the climate. And the sun's not quite as cruel as in the desert." He smiled darkly. "And besides, there's a lot more people around here."

"Why is that a good thing for him?"

"He's a vampire," said Riana, turning about for the first time to look at the two men. "One of the very first. Our master's first great idea. And because he was chosen to be one of us, the guardians of His weapons, he's utterly immortal."

Brooklyn glanced up at her. "You mean like I am?"

"No," stepped in Rincewald. "There are different forms of immortality. Like you, we can die. But where as your body will heal itself from whatever injuries are inflicted upon it, our bodies will vanish, as our grip on the physical world is broken. It's like that with many types of daemon really. We return eventually, when our strength is regained enough for us to manifest a physical form again. Until that time, we stay in a form of limbo."

"So you're invincible really?"

"No," replied Rincewald. "We have our weaknesses. There are some ways that we can be stopped." He rubbed his chin and looked into the canal's murky water. "That man. Harrison. I dare say he'd know how to destroy us."

"Oh come off it Jerry, he's nuts." Said Riana. "He can't even think straight."

"Neither can you," growled the necromancer. "If you did think straight he wouldn't have ever bothered about us. He's probably tracking us down as we speak."

"Then let him come. When Brooklyn claims the gauntlets and we team up again with Gregor, old Benny won't stand a chance against us."

Rincewald frowned. "Maybe…perhaps. I think the best course of action though would be to just avoid getting attacked by anyone else until all of us are together. _Then_, we can just have at them. No one could ever stand against the five of us."

Riana looked over Rincewald contemptuously. She looked over to Brooklyn. "What do you think Brook?"

"I agree with Rincewald." Replied Brooklyn. "We should let me get the weapons and meet up with the other guardians. With you lot backing me, and the weapons at my disposal, I shall not only have vengance on Oberon. I'll also bring the Prince's reign to this world. And the human filth will be wiped away before it can do any more damage."

There was the echo of horns blaring in the distance as a traffic jam started to build up near the port areas. Several sea gulls flew overhead of the trio as they made their way back to the sea from where ever they had made up nests.

"The main problem though," stated Rincewald calmly. "Is actually finding him around here. This city is massive."

The others nodded. Riana looked over to the streets and spotted a newsagent. A smile spread across her lips. She tapped Brooklyn on the shoulder.

"Brooklyn. Those roubles we took from that farm family. Do you have them on you?"

The gargoyle turned human nodded, delving into his trouser pockets and pulling out a small wad of Russian notes. Riana took them from him, tossing a few over the side that were stained blackish red before turning about and heading to a crossing point.

"Where are you going?" asked Rincewald.

"I've got an idea how to find him. I'll be back in five."

"Well I must say you have certainly done quite well for yourself," said Furcifer.

"Thank you," replied Gregor Zaitsev.

They had just entered one of the many rooms that Zaitsev had yet to display to his old friend. The vampire's home was quite impressive. It was a series of interconnecting underground chambers that had all been built into the floors of the warehouse that Zaitsev had set up shop in.

The particular room they were in was about twenty feet by fifteen. Paintings of people Furcifer didn't recognise lined the ebony panelled walls. There was a black marble fireplace with scenes of _Dante's Inferno_ carved into it. Above the fireplace a pair swept hilt rapiers were crossed over a wooden plaque with a gold Pentacle star engraved into it. Two massive couches of smooth brown leather sat opposite each other in the centre, a round mahogany coffee table lay between them. A single, but quite spectacular chandelier, lighted up the room.

"This is one of my more simpler rooms," said Zaitsev, with more than a hint of pride. "Quite drab when compared to some of the others."

Furcifer walked into the room from the door they had been standing at. He twirled around, taking in the splendour. "You miss the old days don't you?"

Zaitsev frowned and crossed his arms. "Which old days are you talking about? Old friend."

"The days of the Tsars, of course. I know you must have found Communism lots of fun and all, but I can tell just by looking at you that you miss being a snob."

"Well you could get away with more in those days," replied Zaitsev, coming into the room after Furcifer.

He was a very tall man, with a body that was going from muscled to fat. He had rounded head that was completely shaven. He looked out at the world with a pair of ancient, cloud grey eyes. His face was wrinkled slightly from age. He looked to be in his very late forties. His skin was pale with broad shoulders. His chest was still powerful while he sported a small potbelly. He was dressed in very expensive, black, pinstriped Armani suit with a dark green mandarin shirt with the top button open.

He smiled at Furcifer nostalgically. "I was a duke once. A member of the Imperial Court." He grinned. "I could kill nearly anyone I wanted and get away with it. Hell, it was so easy I almost felt sorry for them."

"Really?"

"Well…no, not really."

They both grinned at each other. "That was one perk about being an aristocrat, the other was the orgies."

Furcifer burst out laughing at that. After he calmed down they moved to a door on the opposite side of the room and entered it. This door way led to a stone spiral staircase that went only down.

"How deep is your lair anyway?"

"About three storeys below ground level. It's a fantastic place for hiding shipments."

"Is that how you've paid for all this?"

"Damn right. It's a win, win situation when you think about it. They give me their money, and I slowly kill them in exchange." Zaitsev looked over at Furcifer and smiled at him. "Sometimes I'm left wondering why we're here in the first place. They'll destroy themselves sooner or later."

"Perhaps," replied Furcifer. "But it just won't be quick enough for us."

"We've waited this long. I'd have thought you'd have more patience by now."

Furcifer frowned at him. "Well I haven't. Are you going to show me the downstairs now or not?"

Gregor frowned as well. He turned and led his friend down the well-lit staircase. He decided he'd show Furcifer the lowest level and work his way up from there.

After a moment's silence a thought occurred to Gregor.

"Are you sure this fella's the Anointed?"

"Positive," replied Furcifer immediately. Gregor could feel his friend's frown at the back of his head. "Why?"

"Well," started Zaitsev. "If he is, who you say he is, don't you think he would have been here by now?"

"Perhaps he's been delayed."

"If he's the one do you really think anything could actually delay him?"

Furcifer stopped and glared at Zaitsev dangerously. "Since when did you enrol into the Inquisition?"

Zaitsev stopped and turned about quickly. "Look. I just want to make sure that he is the one. I think you'll agree that we've had far too many disappointments already."

"Not this time."

"Why?" pressed Gregor. "What makes him so different from the others?"

"There's something about him," said Furcifer slowly. He glanced down at the stone steps, thoughtfully. "Something…unique."

Zaitsev folded his arms, his face becoming sceptical. "Many, of the candidates have been unique."

"I know that. But in him there is some greatness. Something you can feel when you're near him. Ever since he put on the Lack of Conscience and he was freed of morality, it's been getting stronger. We are preparing him for what he has to do. He has a great role to play my old friend. A very important role."

"Are you certain that role involves us, old friend? Our goals? Our ambitions?"

Furcifer nodded immediately. "Yes Gregor. I am certain of it."

Zaitsev nodded. "Alright. We'll wait and see if this fella's all he's cracked up to be then. I'll have my men start prowling the streets, keeping an eye out for him. I'll make my mind up on him if he ever arrives."

Furcifer smiled, clearly pleased. "Excellent. They should run into him fairly quickly. The three of them are quite easy to notice. Around here they'll probably stand out like a sore thumb."

Zaitsev chuckled and started down the stairway again. "It will be good seeing Riana again." He said conversationally. They came to the bottom and he opened the titanium door. He gestured for Furcifer to go in and followed in after him. They now stood in a fairly wide, well lit corridor of drab, grey concrete. Along the left side of the corridor were two heavily reinforced steel doors that had open grates near the top with steel bars along them. Further down the corridor widened until it ended with a pair of wooden doors roughly a meter apart.

Furcifer walked down the corridor a little and looked through the first grated door and into a cell with a pair of bunks, a toilet and a sink. The room was roughly ten feet by ten feet.

"Cosy," he muttered before turning over to look at Zaitsev as he came up to stand beside him. "Are we expecting guests Gregor?"

Zaitsev shrugged. "It helps to be prepared. And they've come in useful every now and then."

Furcifer nodded and looked down the corridor to the two black panelled doors. "And what are they for?"

"Those?" replied Zaitsev, smiling darkly. "Those are what I like to call my playrooms. Get me a fairly healthy person and I can just have hours of fun in there with them."

"Do I get to see inside?"

"No," replied Zaitsev. "Those are for me, employees, and victims only. Sorry Furcifer, but a man's got to have his own private little place."

"I understand. Now let's go and see if we can find Brooklyn shall we?"

Near the city centre: Several hours later 

The centre of the city was made up mainly of cobblestone-covered ground. It was more for walking rather than driving, which was more for the outer areas. On a road near one of the outer areas a rather large vehicle pulled up in a space designated for tour buses in a car park close to a tourist centre.

It was an especially large vehicle, which looked somewhat like a double-decker tour bus. It was chrome in colour, with large tinted glass windows so that it was impossible to see inside. Its design was quite modern, with two pairs of wheels in the rear while one set was at the front. The hull looked especially thick though, as if it were also equipped with some armour. The only markings on the entire, silvery body, was a small black Nightstone Inc. insignia near the rear wheels.

The side door of the bus opened and four people came out, one after the other. The youngest of the quartet came out last, walking down the steps sideways and talking quietly to someone over his shoulder. When he came down the last step, he waved and the door then closed.

The quartet then walked down the road for a while until they had reached the city centre, mixing in fairly well with the rest of the population. The clouds in the sky were becoming darker, threatening to bring about another downpour if the sky remained as it was. It was getting quite late now. It had been only a few hours since most peoples' works had ended and so the streets were still quite crowded as the population now went about its own personal business.

A the quartet stood amid the bustling crowds, one of the group looked to the others and said:

"So…where do we start?"

He was in his early thirties and had a sort of rugged handsomeness about him. He was a little over six feet and very well built, with unruly chestnut hair and emerald coloured eyes. He was dressed in a pair of black boots, black jeans, with a camo green long sleeved shirt that hung open like a jacket, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath. Covering most of his green shirt was a navy blue denim jacket that also lay open.

There were two women with him that looked roughly his age, and a younger man.

The first women looked to be in her early thirties. She was dressed in a black leather jacket, a black blouse with black trousers and black boots. She had striking eyes, the same shade of emerald as the man who'd spoken. She was thin and quite athletic. Her hair was raven black and reached down to her shoulders, while her forehead was slightly wrinkled from frowning too much.

The other woman was none other than Dominique Destine. Her flame red hair was tied back quite tightly back into a bun, while she was dressed in a navy blue business suit, a jacket and skirt, with a white blouse and a red silk scarf tied around the blouse's collar like a tie. She had on a pair of navy high heels with no tights over her strong legs. She looked especially annoyed over something.

The other male of the group was quite young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He was tall and thin, yet muscular, with a long shock of cotton white hair that he had tied back into a ponytail. He was quite handsome by human standards, with high cheekbones and clean but quite pale skin. He had a pair of kind, cloud grey eyes. There were the three small creases in the skin on his right cheek, scars that looked like they had been caused by some wild animal. Contrary to the rest of his group, he was dressed very colourfully. He wore black combat boots; with a pair of bone coloured combat slacks, a grey t-shirt that could be seen underneath a Hawaiian surfer's shirt of cobalt blue, depicting a scene with several women and a big red car from the thirties on a beach somewhere. Over this, lying open, was a denim coat of deep purple that reached down just a little past his knees.

Dominique Destine looked over at Fang, not bothering to hide her contempt for the mutate that had been turned human through magic. "Well, since we need food, I would think a supermarket would be a good place to start. Don't you?" She looked over at Malibu and Faith, ignoring the glare that Fang was giving her. "Now listen, this will go quicker if we split up the list and meet back up here in an hour." She handed Faith a small scrap of paper. "Take _those two_ and go get the groceries. I'll get the meat." She turned about and started walking off briskly towards what looked like a butcher's.

"Hey Demms!" yelled Fang, clearly fed up.

Dominique stopped and turned about, glaring at them. "What?"

"None of us know Russian," growled Faith.

There was a mild _thump_ as a very small Russian phrase book landed at their feet. Without another word Dominique turned about and walked off.

After a few moments Mal sighed. "You know, I don't think she'll never forgive us for this."

Fang folded his arms; still glaring in the direction that Dominique had taken, grumbling something under his breath.

"Perhaps," said Faith. She looked about her, at the throngs of people that flowed around them. "Well…let's get going."

Mal looked over at her. "We don't know the language Faith. And I doubt that phrase book might be much use." He bent down and picked it up. It was discouragingly thin. "How are we supposed to get anything?"

"Simple. She gave us a really thick wad of notes didn't she?"

"Well…yeah but…"

"Then this is what we do," said Faith. "We go to the store, pick up all we need, and just hand the cashier the lot. It's her money and she's a billionaire, so she's not gonna miss a few hundred is she?"

Fang looked over at Faith and smiled. "I like that idea."

Faith smiled back at him. "Great, then lets move. I think I saw a mall over there somewhere. Are you coming Mal?"

"You two are unbelievable," said Mal, grinning. He caught up with them and the trio started down the square, walking at a leisurely pace. The mall was a good distance away, and there was plenty of time.

"I can't believe we didn't stock up on food while we were at Demona's," said Mal after a while.

"Well we did have a lot of other things to worry about," said Faith. "I think you'll agree that food was pretty low down on our priorities."

"I guess so," replied Mal. He looked back over his shoulder to where Demona had disappeared, but felt a hand pat him gently on the shoulder. He turned about and saw Fang now walking beside him.

"Don't worry about her kid. She'll get over it."

"Maybe," said Mal, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. "I'm not sure. I mean, we probably should have told her that she and Brook were linked."

Fang shrugged. "I guess so. But there's no point in worrying about that now. It's done. No point in crying over spilt milk."

They walked on a little further.

"We should apologise," said Mal. "For what we did to her before."

"You mean blowing her up?"

"Uh…yeah."

Fang seemed to ponder over this for a few moments, stopping his walk and looking down at the cobbled pavement. "Hmm…yeah. Yeah I guess we should say sorry for that too. Just in case she kicks our asses after this is all over." They began their walk again. Eventually they reached the other side of the square and crossed the road over to a very large mall.

Fang's eyes drifted over to Mal, to the way he had that slight limp on his left leg as he walked as they went through the doors. Mal felt that he was being watched but Fang had looked away by the time Mal looked over at him. But he was able to catch the look of anger that he wore on his face for just the briefest second.

The interior was vast, with white dominating the interior decoration as it is with many such establishments. It was multi-storied, with each floor opening in the middle for rails to allow people to lean over and look down on those on the lower levels. It had a very large fountain at the centre, with the escalators nearby and an all glass elevator that actually seemed to be part of the fountain rising up from it.

Mal looked up when they neared the fountain. He could see the thickening clouds through the glass ceiling that was at least four storeys up from where they stood.

Mal whistled, clearly impressed. "Geeze. I thought they were in a recession or something?"

"I think it's built by foreign investment," replied Faith, looking around. "I don't even think the government can afford to pay its army anymore. There's no way they could have funded this."

Mal shook his head, still looking skywards. "Why can't humans do anything small?"

"Testosterone," replied Faith almost immediately. "Well…for men anyway."

"Hey!" protested Fang.

"Oh come on Peter," said Faith, smiling at Fang. "You never hear of women designing big monstrosities like this do you?"

"So? That doesn't mean we all think with our balls ya know."

Faith shrugged. "Whatever. Look, we should get going. I don't know about either of you but I'm desperate for a nice, big, latte. So let's get shopping done quickly and see if we can find a place around here that speaks English okay?"

Mal and Fang nodded and followed her up a nearby escalator.

After about half an hour or so they had gotten all the groceries they needed, and were heading upstairs to what looked like a nice enough coffee house. The cashier they'd had for when they were processing their purchases was remarkably honest and gave them exact change, and so they had more than enough left to buy a few buns and coffee.

There were several in the huge mall, but the one they had picked was on the first floor. It was simply designed, with most of the tables, round steel designers with glass tops and accompanied by quite comfortable chrome chairs. Scattered around the two dozen or so tables out on the tiled floors, many of which were near the glass and steel railings that gave a view of the fountain on the ground floor, as well as a view its elevator and nearby escalators, was a veritable forest of potted plants, many of which could actually be classified as trees. The majority of them were imported from the Far East, while others were palms that had been transported up from places like Kazakhstan. Quite a few had grown very tall and extremely wide, with their leaf laden branches even now resting on the cold floors, quite clean except for where the plants' dead, crumpled and brown leaves lay.

Faith and Mal took a table beside the railing after telling Fang what they wanted. The mutate turned human wandered up to the ordering point with what was left of Demona's roubles in one hand, the phrase book he had perused for a few minutes before in the other.

"Tiles," said Fang, haltingly, to the man at the counter, a rather large and impatient looking gentleman with wire frame glasses and dark eyes. "I would like…uh, let's see… a kitten, two chocolate muffins…uh… a glass banana, an extra large vanilla sock, and…ah damn how the Hell do you pronounce that again? Uh…and…uh, some pennies with cream. Table."

The man at the counter stared at him, baffled. "Come again?"

Fang sighed. "Great. Just great. I don't suppose you know English do ya?" The man stared at him and crossed his arms. "That's a no then?"

"Oh for frig sake," growled someone. Fang felt someone tap his shoulder impatiently. He turned around to look a fat gentleman in battered brown suit standing behind him. He looked on the verge of snapping.

"American?" growled the man impatiently, his sky blue eyes looking him over aloofly.

"Yeah," replied Fang, frowning. "Why?"

"Figures. Look, tell me what you want and then I'll tell him. Otherwise you'll be there all day. Okay?"

"Oh," managed Fang, a little surprised at the offer. "Uh…thanks."

"Don't mention it…ever."

After order had been successfully given and Fang waited for it to be handed to him he looked over the gentleman who helped him. "So what do you do?"

The man looked him over suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what do you do?"

The man seemed to shift uncomfortably as Fang looked over his clothes, briefly wondering what the bulge in one of his jacket pockets was. "I'm a…a caretaker…of sorts."

"You're pretty smart for a caretaker. Know any other languages?"

The man smiled, more than a little proud. "Well…I've picked up quite a few over the years. French, English, Russian, German, Italian, Georgian, Romanian, Greek and about half a dozen or so other languages that are still used and about a dozen that aren't. "

"And you're only a caretaker?" asked Fang, stunned. "Geeze. You sound more like a professor if you ask me."

"Oh…uh…thank you," replied the man, smiling in a way that suggested compliments were something terribly rare for him. He looked him over; the aloofness in his eyes had vanished now, replaced by a mild curiosity. "So what do you do?"

Fang stared at him for a moment. "Uh…well…I guess I'm a caretaker too really."

"Do you enjoy it? I always found mine to be terribly boring. That's why I turned to languages and…other things."

Fang cast a very quick glance to where Mal and Faith were sitting, on the very edge of the cluster of tables to his right, behind a couple of those huge potted plants and near the edge of the rail for some privacy. He smiled. "Yeah. I think do actually."

"Well that's good." Said the man, eager to keep talking. "My job had a lot of flavour once. A lot of appeal and supposed promise. Doesn't really do that much for me anymore. Truth be told I don't really much care for those I work for either."

"Then why don't you quit?" Said Fang helpfully. "Find some other job with more likeable people."

The man shrugged. "I made a promise. A very binding one really. I'm pretty much stuck with this job unless my responsibility gets blown up or something. Something I doubt will ever happen."

"Man. That sucks." Said Fang. He heard the man at the counter say something in Russian. He turned around and saw his order was ready on a tray. He paid for it and got less change than he should have from the coffee man and turned around to face the man who hated his job again. "Thanks for the assistance there," he said. "And I hope it all works out for you, Mr…?"

"Rincewald," said the man, smiling. "And I wouldn't advise worrying about it. It won't."

Fang frowned but managed a nod and walked over to his table while Rincewald went forward to place his order.

"Well," said Faith. "You took your time. Who was that you were talking to?"

"Just another guy with a problem," replied Fang, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to where the man was standing, giving his order. "Seemed like an okay guy though."

"Well that's very nice," said Faith. "But if you don't mind I'd like my latte now."

Fang handed her order over to her, a vanilla latte with a slice of rhubarb crumble and cream while Mal picked up his banana split and dug into it. Fang had a pair of chocolate muffins and a large black coffee.

"There's something I've been thinking about," said Faith, as she started stabbing her rhubarb crumble mercilessly with her fork. "You know when you told me you two can change into humans using a spell."

"Yeah?" said Mal.

"Well I was wondering if you could do anything else. I mean other than change from one form to another."

Fang and Mal cast glances over at each other and chuckled.

Faith raised an eyebrow. "What? What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing," said Mal, smiling. "It's just the idea that me and Fang being wizards is pretty funny."

"Or friggin scary," stepped in Fang, his grin even wider than his friend's. "Me, you and godlike powers? Fuck. That's more than scary actually. It's friggin terrifying!" He seemed to be having great difficulty not laughing out loud. "It wouldn't be ten minutes before we nuked something!"

"Ten? Come on Fang! We'd probably be laying waste to every inch of the world before ten seconds flat!" said Mal, showing a little more restraint but still chuckling madly. He managed to calm down though when he saw the look Faith was giving him. "Sorry Faith. But me and Fang aren't even very good with the spell that makes us human."

"That's right," said Fang. "It never lasts. For me, I think I can make it last about four and a half hours." He patted Mal on the shoulder affectionately. "But the kid here can almost make it last seven." He looked over at Faith. "After those few hours we've gotta recast the whole thing again."

"Yeah." Said Mal. "Usually it was Jezebel or Brooklyn that changed us because they could make it last as long as they wanted cause, well, they're light years ahead of us. Magically speaking anyway. We just do it like this every now and then to get a little practice in. It used to be me and Fang could only keep it up for a couple of minutes before Brook and Jezebel gave us a lot of pointers."

"Yeah," said Fang. He seemed to think of something and looked over at Mal after sipping some coffee. "What was it Jezebel said? About magic I mean?"

Mal took a scoop of his banana split and seemed to think it over as he ate, relishing the taste of something that, only half a year ago, he could taste only in dreams. "I think I know what you're talking about," he said eventually. "She said that everyone is capable of performing some magic. But what makes some people better at it than others depends on an awful lot of factors. Stuff like intelligence, willpower, your environment growing up, your personality, language skills, the list's practically endless."

"You're a fucking idiot," growled Rincewald, sitting down at the table and slamming the tray with their orders on it, spilling some of Brooklyn's café mocha onto the brown plastic, causing the gargoyle turned human to growl something.

Riana, sitting near the rail, their table behind yet another cluster of plants, glared at him. "How was I supposed to know it wouldn't work?"

"Looking up the missing persons? In a city this big? How the Hell did you think that would give any clues?" snapped the necromancer. "Do you've the slightest inkling how many people must go missing in a city this big in a single week?"

Riana shrugged and picked up her chocolate gateaux with extra servings of cream. "At least I'm trying stiff shagger. You aren't doing an awful lot other than complain like a little bitch."

"Fuck you!"

"Get in line!"

Brooklyn rolled his eyes and started sipping his mocha. _–How the Hell did I get stuck with these two?-_. He leaned over the table and glared at them. "Would you two mind being quiet? _I thought_ that we wanted to keep a low profile? You're attracting attention we don't need so shut up."

Riana and Rincewald exchanged glares at each other but leaned back to their own sides of the table and remained quite for the time being. Brooklyn took a city map out of his pocket and spread it out over the table. "You two know the guardian here right? So tell me do you think he might be around here? I can't read Russian so please be detailed."

Rincewald took the map and spread it between himself and Riana, slurping a white coffee as he did so. "Well…knowing Gregor, he'll want someplace big and expensive."

"But also inconspicuous," said Riana helpfully.

Rincewald nodded grudgingly and seemed to think this over. He sipped his coffee nosily with one hand and tapped the glass table with his other. After several minutes he looked up at Brooklyn.

"Underground. He'll be underground somewhere."

"You sure?" asked Brooklyn.

"Absolutely."

Brooklyn looked over at Riana for confirmation. The woman had been looking down into her vodka while Rincewald had been tapping the table. She nodded after a moment. "The stiff shagger's right. That makes sense. He could be in part of the underground tunnels."

"No," said Rincewald, shaking his head. "That's not really his style. Sewers are too cheap."

"The metro then?" said Riana. "He might be there. It's underground and it's a pretty big place. Plenty of places to hide in."

Rincewald frowned. "No, I don't really think so. That could be where he hides the gauntlets, but I doubt he'd enjoy being near them all that much. He likes the outside too much to spend all his time in a crappy little hole somewhere."

Riana suddenly looked at him and then at Brooklyn. "Wait a second. Why are we listening to him anyway?" she looked over at the necromancer again. "When's the last time you ever talked to Gregor anyway?"

"Well it was a very long time ago but I still think…"

"Then how the Hell is it you think you know where he'd be staying?"

"Cause he's a complete snob," growled Rincewald dangerously. "Why? What makes you think you know him so well?"

"Gregor and I were always on the same wavelength and-"

"What wavelength was that exactly Riana? The only thing you two have got in common is you like killing!"

"It's still better than what you've got." Riana smiled suddenly, growing disgustingly superior. "Tell me Jerry. Just how long has it been since you actually killed somebody?"

Rincewald sat back and stared at his fellow guardian, regarding her very suspiciously. "Just what the Hell has that got to do with what we're talking about?"

"Oh nothing really. Just curious I guess."

"Well it's none of your damned business alright?"

Riana smiled, now practically oozing superiority. "Okay. Whatever."

"Enough from both of you," growled Brooklyn. "Can we just finish up here quickly? This is taking far longer than it ever should."

Rincewald and Riana nodded grudgingly and went back to their drinks, occasionally eyeing each other hatefully while Brooklyn looked down over the rail and at the throngs of people below him on the ground level of the mall. Between the legs of the table were two bags that would be used for rather long fishing rods, one of which shuddered occasionally, as if looking for attention.

"So anyway," said Fang, with a chocolate muffin in one hand and a nostalgic grin on his face. "I've got Derek in this sort of tiny steel box with this glass door, and he is completely stuck in there, no way in Hell he's getting out." He fought desperately to stop from laughing, as this was one of those things he could talk about for hours, if he could only keep a straight face. "And when I say tiny, I mean really fucking small." He snickered. "I mean this thing, it was about a foot in diameter, and maybe six feet tall, and the thing was that Derek was about seven foot, so that meant he was hunched over the whole time, it was so bad he had that big ugly mug of his rubbing against the glass like some psycho zoo animal, it was totally steamed up in there and fucking spittle all over the place."

"What were you going to do to him?" giggled Faith. Mal was beside her and in stitches from chuckling; he was actually hunched over on the table, although he'd probably heard this story a thousand times. He had quite a dark sense of humour, just like Peter really.

"I had no idea," said Fang, calming down, slightly. "I mean this was totally one of those spur of the moment things. I just saw the guns, and got this really big hankering for the good old days. I probably should have actually taken a minute to think at least _something_ through but I didn't. I was tired, I was fed up with Derek barking orders at me, I hadn't had a donut in months and I was fucking sick of doing nothing but charity work."

"Well what about Maggie?" asked Faith, smiling. "What did you have in store for her?"

Fang shrugged. "It's a good thing she escaped actually. I would have probably stuck her in that little box with Derek for being such a mouthy bitch." He sat back in his chair. "Now that I think about it, I think Brooklyn did me a favour. I'd have probably ended up being stabbed to death as I slept or something. I don't think I'd be very good with power."

"Wouldn't that have been a tragedy?" said Faith, a playful smile on her face.

Fang nodded. He then grinned evilly and looked over at Mal. "Faith and I met at an orgy in a graveyard. Did ya know that kid?"

"Peter!"

Mal chuckled and sat back, finished with his banana split. "I kinda figured that bit out actually." Fang opened his mouth to say something else but Mal beat him to it. "And I think that's all the detail I want to know, thanks very much."

"Spoilsport," said Fang, smiling.

Faith shook her head and finished off her vanilla latte, before checking her watch. "We probably should get going," she said, rising. "I don't think we need Demona angry at you two more than she already is now do we?"

Fang and Mal nodded before rising. The trio then began to gather up a half dozen plastic bags worth of groceries that Demona had told them to get and the packets of sweets and chocolate that Faith and Fang had insisted that Demona had simply forgot to mention on the list.

"Oh fuck this!" said Brooklyn. He glared at Rincewald and Riana, who'd started giving off to each other again, while reaching for the _Black Sun_ staff that lay under the table in a fishing rod bag. "If you two don't stop it right now I'll fucking leave the pair of ya behind! You got that? No more bitching! No more fighting! Or I'll friggin feed you to the staff! You understand?"

They nodded as Brooklyn wrapped his hand around the shaft. "And another thing…"

His voice trailed off and his eyes widened, as the staff shuddered, and the daemon within whispered to his mind.

"Well, I'll be damned."

He stood up slowly, taking care to bring the staff up with him, as it's covering vanished in pale blue flames, which then flowed from the daemonstaff up along his arm and then all over his body, causing a few passers-by to stop dead in their tracks and stare, wide-eyed at the human; whose pale skin was shifting to a deep crimson.

Rincewald stared at him from where he sat, a little stunned. "Brooklyn, what the Hell are you doing?"

Over the noise of tearing cloth, the shifting of bones and the screams of those nearby, the necromancer was barely able to discern what Brooklyn said. To him it sounded like, "He won't get away this time."

The trio paused as they heard several terrified screams on the other side of the cluster of coffee tables and potted plants.

"What the Hell's that?" asked Fang. There were several more screams before a small group of afternoon shoppers scrambled out of the first floor shrubbery and darted past them. As they did so, Faith put her bags down and reached into her black leather jacket. Fang and Mal glanced over at her and put their bags down aswell, though neither reached into their jacket and coat respectively, for the moment at least.

Several of the tables, chairs and potted plants suddenly began to shudder violently from where they lay, before rising a few feet into the air and propelling themselves at the trio at a dangerous speed.

"Holy shit!" yelled Mal. He threw himself to the ground as a chair flew through the space his head had been only a moment before. "DUCK!"

Faith was to Mal's left while Fang had been to his right. When a potted tree and two tables hurtled towards Faith, she had managed to dive sideways, below the tree and then narrowly dodging the two tables as they both smashed themselves into the tiled floor where the female Inquisitor had been upon rising, scattering glass and twisted metal across several smashed and dislodged white tiles.

Fang wasn't quite so lucky. He dodged a table, and then two chairs, his path taking him nearly right beside the rail, before a potted palm came at him. He was able to dodge that aswell, the tree smashing into the rail behind him, exploding the glass out onto the people walking on the ground level below while bending and tearing the iron rails from the floor from the force of the impact. In a brief reprieve he suddenly hunched over, muttering something incomprehensible. There was the sound of tearing cloth as the back of his denim jacket exploded outwards as a massive pair of bat-like wings began to sprout from his back. His mouth began to take on a slight muzzle shape, while his teeth began to grow profusely into very dangerous looking fangs, as his hands became talons and his skin began to grow thick, chestnut coloured fur.

Another potted plant flew towards him, but exploded as and arc of raw electrical power emanating from his clenched fists collided with it, filling the air with flying chunks of dirt, pottery and flaming pieces of tree. Out of the brown cloud of dirt came another steel table that Fang fired at, though his electrical blast did little more than crack the glass, as he had yet to complete the transformation fully and thus rely on the great power his electrical glands gave him.

The table hit him in the chest, lifting him up off the ground and sending him over the edge of the destroyed rail just behind him, breaking the deformed rail with his back, just before he plummeted towards the floor below, not even getting the chance to yell or scream.

"PETER!"

"FANG!"

Mal rose to his knees, hoping desperately that Fang wasn't badly hurt, before something crimson red came at him and kicked him roughly in the chest. The gargoyle turned human was lifted off the ground from the power of the attack, landing a foot or so away on his back, the wind completely knocked out of him.

He lay there for a moment, his head swirling and his chest and lungs aching as he tried to gather himself and stand. He managed to sit up on his elbows before his attacker came at him again, leaping at him and bringing a large, clawed foot, down onto his flat belly, the claws cutting through his shirt and ripping the flesh of his stomach. Mal had the breath knocked out of him again as he half gasped in agony and doubled upwards, before a tail whipped across his face and sent it back down, the back of his head connecting with the tiled floor with a very loud _crack_.

At that point he blacked out.

Brooklyn smiled as he looked down at his unconscious clone. "Wow, that was easy. I keep forgetting how fragile human bodies are."

The _Black Sun_ daemonstaff shuddered in his right hand.

_Kill him!_ urged the daemon Thzul'gzhu'vsra'kotllz from within the weapon. _Kill him now Master! _

"Silence daemon," growled Brooklyn, his eyes flaring with blue flame. "I want this little bastard to suffer first."

_-So this is Brooklyn,-_ thought Faith grimly.

She had managed to roll behind one of several support columns for the next floor up on the mall and was now crouched down, not far from where Mal was lying, out cold by the looks of it. She had pulled a Glock 17, 9mm semi-automatic from a shoulder holster under her leather jacket, and at this point was taking cautious looks over her shoulder, past the column and past where the gargoyle was standing, impossibly, with the sun still up, to see if she could spot anyone suspicious looking.

Mal had said that when Brooklyn had tortured him, he'd mentioned that he hadn't been responsible for the slaughter in Sudeny, which meant to Faith that he at least one other person with him.

She risked a quick glance over at Brooklyn. The red gargoyle had a very long, black staff with what looked like a human skull on the top end and a serrated spear tip on the other side. His clothes, brown trousers, a cream white cotton shirt and a brown waistcoat were torn here and there, from where his tail and wings had come out. Thin lines of pale blue and black flames seemed to dance up and down along the shaft of the staff, while the air was thick with the smell of the daemonic spice.

Brooklyn pulled his foot, the claws moist with blood, from his brother's stomach, chuckling as he did so. He brought the staff up and around so that now the spear tip was dangling only a few inches from Mal's chest.

Faith's eyes widened as the staff began to shudder violently in the gargoyle's loose grip. She thought she could hear the echo of a roar within her mind. There was a very heavy feeling in her stomach as she realised what was happening.

There was a daemon bound into the weapon Brooklyn was wielding, and he was about to feed his brother's soul to it.

Before Brooklyn could do anything more, Inquisitor Thompson was around the support column, firing a volley from her Glock in her left hand as she rushed forward. Four rounds in total.

The first hit Brooklyn in the right arm, just above the elbow. Two more ripped into the leathery membrane of his wings, while the fourth missed his throat and cut a line along the back of his neck with a trail of blood vapour coming out of the wound as the bullet cut through a thing layer of flesh and then went on to hit a wall on the other side of the mall, destroying a tile in the process.

The gargoyle spun about and screamed, his left arm going up to cover the wound in his neck as Faith covered the distance between them in scant seconds before bringing her right leg up while twisting about on her left ankle, swinging her right foot up to deliver a devastating kick to his face.

The gargoyle twisted about before falling back onto his side, temporarily stunned. Faith took advantage of this by roughly kicking the staff out of his hand and sending it bouncing along the wrecked floor. Resisting the desire to check to see if Malibu and Peter were all right, Inquisitor Thompson instead quickly glanced around to assess the situation.

The mall seemed to be emptying very quickly. The floor they were on was virtually deserted, with the last few people making their way to an escalator on the other side of the gap in the floor that let the daylight shine down on all the floors as quickly and quietly as possible. She couldn't see mall security anywhere, which meant they'd heard the gunshots, and had probably called the militia.

_-Not much time then.-_

There was a whistling sound in the air, and then suddenly a _snap_, and Faith was jerked roughly to the left, as her pistol was pulled from her grip and sent skidding along the floor, stopping several feet away at a pair of jet black combat boots.

Faith looked up from the gun, and into the pale green eyes of a very young woman, with short ash blonde hair and a button nose. She was in a simple brown dress that didn't suit her, while she carried a long whip in her right hand and a _Kukri_ dagger in her left.

Behind her, perhaps twenty or so yards from them, was a man dressed in a brown suit and with a cream coloured shirt and no tie, sitting on a chair beside a toppled plant, while a brown hat and several dishes and empty glasses lay on the table right beside him. He was fat and had a very gruff and tired appearance. From the look in his eyes, he wasn't going to get involved, for the moment anyway.

Faith looked back at the young woman, who was smiling evilly at her.

"You look like you could keep me busy," she said, looking the Inquisitor over with a professional's eye. "For a while at least."

Faith growled and slipped her leather jacket off, tossing it aside, revealing the harness that she had kept her pistol and three extra clips of ammo on. Attached to the back of it was an extendable version of her wooden tonfa. She reached over her shoulder and pulled it free, taking it in her left hand and pressing the button on the handle, releasing the thin, black steel shaft.

The woman cocked her head to the right and licked her lips as Faith reached over with her right hand and into the left sleeve of her blouse, and yanked a thin handled knife from a strap around her forearm. It had a four and a half inch black handle, with a six and a half inch blade.

"Name's Riana," said the young woman conversationally as they began circling each other, staying a few yards apart. "Who are you?"

"The Inquisition," replied Faith, stopping and taking a basic fighting stance.

Riana scoffed at that and came forward suddenly, striking out with her whip, but Faith dodged to the right and threw her blade at the on coming woman, much to Riana's surprise.

The blade went into her right shoulder, the blade tearing into flesh and causing Riana yelp, more in shock than anything else, loosening her grip on her whip while her left arm went up to try and pull the blade out as the wound began to bleed.

At that moment Faith came at her, lashing upwards with her tonfa, knocking Riana's _Kukri_ back but not taking it out of her hand. While Riana's left arm went up, Faith's right shot out and grabbed the handle of the knife that was still lodged in Riana's flesh. When she got hold of it she pushed forward, while twisting the blade, widening the hole she had made and causing the blood to gush out of the wound.

Riana screamed something incomprehensible and dropped the whip. Staggering back, she managed to regain some balance and lashed out at Faith with her dagger, cutting the woman's right cheek.

Faith swore and pulled the knife out of Riana's shoulder, bringing her left foot up and kicking her opponent roughly in the stomach, knocking her back on to her rump. But Riana rolled back as soon as she landed and was on her feet in barely a second.

Taking the _Kukri_ in her right hand, Riana began to circle around Faith, looking for an opening while the female Inquisitor chose to stay put and wait for her opponent to make a move.

She heard a groan not too far away from them, and turned slightly while backing towards the wall to make sure Riana couldn't get the jump on her while getting to see who was waking up. She almost swore when Brooklyn sat up and looked up at her, his expression going from confused and in pain to utter rage in a scant second.

"You little bitch," he growled, standing, and swaying slightly. "I'll take your friggin head off for that."

Faith looked him over quickly. His shirt was stained with blood but his wounds didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, and the two holes she had put in his wing had vanished completely.

"You're a fast healer," she said.

"Yeah," said Brooklyn, drawing a single edged knife from his pocket. "It seems to be getting faster every time that happens. Pretty cool, huh?"

He smiled evilly and started towards her, slowly. Faith glanced over to her left and saw that Riana was coming in from the other side at about the same pace. She quickly switched the tonfa so that the longer end of the shaft was out past her fist and flipped it over so that she now held the shaft near the rear head.

Brooklyn nodded to Riana and they both came at the Inquisitor at once. Brooklyn lashed out with his knife but Faith managed to block it with her own blade while using the grip handle of her tonfa to catch Riana's wrist with the _Kukri_. She quickly did a side kick to Brooklyn, hitting him in the stomach and sending him staggering backwards before twirling about on Riana, forcing the woman's dagger away from her while she tried to stab her in the chest with her own knife. Riana saw it coming though. She managed to catch Faith's knife hand by the wrist before it could get near its intended target.

The two women wrestled with each other for a moment, glaring into each other's eyes while trying to gain the upper hand.

And then Riana began to squeeze Faith's wrist.

At first it was just a small, sharp pain, but one that didn't really bother Faith all that much. In her career as an Inquisitor, she'd felt pain a great deal worse than this.

But then she could feel the pressure around her wrist get tighter than she thought possible from human hands, and suddenly she felt jolts of pain lancing up along her arm. Riana smiled triumphantly and started squeezing even harder, forcing Faith's grip on the knife to loosen before she dropped it entirely, gritting her teeth, not making a sound, lest she give her opponent any satisfaction from it.

This woman's strength was amazing…

Faith began to struggle as hard as she could, trying to get out of Riana's vice like grip. In desperation she started kicking her in the mid-section, trying to knock the wind out of her and get her grip to loosen, while making sure she didn't try anything with the _Kukri _in her right hand.

When that didn't work (only managing to get Riana to grunt and bend over slightly but nothing more), and she looked into Riana's hatefully smug eyes, she brought up her right foot, and then brought it down again as hard as she could on the toes on Riana's left foot.

Riana's eyes widened, while her grip loosened from the shock of the below the belt attack, yelping from genuine pain this time. Faith was quick to take advantage of this. She kicked Riana in the stomach again, and then brought her foot about as her opponent was reeling back, her grip on Faith now gone completely, and managed to clip her across the face with a follow-up roundhouse kick.

As Riana toppled backwards, her upper lip and button nose busted and bleeding, Faith backed off towards the rail, keeping her back to it so she couldn't get jumped from behind. She glanced over to where Mal was lying, becoming extremely worried as she did so.

He was still on his back, completely limp, the front of his shirt damp with his blood

However, between her and Mal stood Brooklyn, who had scrambled over and had gotten hold of his staff again. There was also the handle of Faith's Glock sticking out over his trousers.

"Well I've gotta say," he said, smiling and leaning slightly on his staff, as weak lines of blue flame ran up and down the rune inscribed shaft. "Fang definitely has an interesting taste in women." He took the staff in both hands, the flames becoming noticeably stronger.

He took several steps towards her, but stopped when he heard something akin to the growl of a large cat. They both looked over at the destroyed part of the rail, where it was coming from.

There was a pair of clawed hands, covered in chestnut coloured fur, holding on to the edge. After a moment more, Fang's head appeared over the edge, followed by winged shoulders and then the rest of him. He got up quickly, hunched over, his breathing somewhat erratic. His nose was bleeding a small stream, while most of his top clothing was torn or shredded. There was also a small blood flow between his lower gums, which were bared along with a set of dangerously sharp fangs. He looked over at Brooklyn with murder in his eyes.

"You, slimy bastard," he growled between clenched teeth. "You big, fucking coward."

Brooklyn glared daggers at him as Fang reached into his ruined jacket and produced a pair of shortened, dual edged, steel handled war knives. "First, ya go and beat up on Mal. Whose done nothing but try and help you. And now this? You fucking chicken."

Brooklyn's anger seemed to dissipate suddenly and he smiled with an air of complete superiority to his former friend. "Hey, if he wouldn't accept the truth, then he had it coming." He looked at Fang's twin blades. "So what do you plan on doing with those? Freak."

The blades of the knives that Fang had suddenly exploded into white-blue flames as Fang channelled electricity into them through the metal handles. He started forward slowly towards the gargoyle, holding the blades before him in a defensive posture.

"I'm gonna cut that cocky head of yours off, and then I'm gonna shove it up you ass. That's what."

"I thought the twisted little plan was to 'save' me?" said Brooklyn sarcastically.

"Hey. You're immortal ain't ya?" growled Fang. "You'll live."

Brooklyn chuckled and the flames running along the staff died down completely. He walked towards Fang, brandishing the staff in both if his taloned hands.

"Tell you what Fang," he said casually. "Since you aren't technically human anymore. I'll make you an offer." He stopped several feet away from the cougar mutate. "I'll let you and _that_," he said, with a quick, contemptuous nod towards Mal, who finally seemed to be stirring slightly. "…live. If you both just bugger off, and stay well out of my way and don't try and stop me anymore. How's that sound?"

Fang circled to Brooklyn right at a slow pace, and stopped when he was between the gargoyle and Mal's still unconscious body.

"That the best you have to offer?" said the mutate, the scorn in his voice quickly switching to sarcasm. "Oh great, future ruler of the world. You're nothing but a cheap Nazi with wings."

Brooklyn frowned. "Believe me. It's a lot better than the alternative."

"Maybe. But I still ain't interested. I mean you're a very sick guy Brook. Probably shoot me the second I turned my back."

Brooklyn glared at him dangerously. "Oh really?"

Fang shrugged and actually gave a wry smile. "Hell. It's what I'd do."

Brooklyn seemed to find this funny. He chuckled for a moment and then made an incredibly stupid move while doing this.

He closed his eyes.

It was only for the briefest of moments, barely a second to be exact. But by the time Brooklyn's eyelids were lifting again, Fang had covered the distance between them and was coming right at him, his two bayonets crackling with electrical energy, and stabbed Brooklyn in the chest with the blade in his right hand.

Brooklyn's entire body went rigid as he emitted a harsh scream of agony as the huge amount of electrical current ran through his body, burning him from within and frying his nerves mercilessly. As his screams echoed throughout the vast space of the inside of the mall, so too did the roar of the daemon within his staff echo throughout the confines of his mind. Though for it, the roar was more of rage than anything else.

Brooklyn was still holding the staff in both hands, clutching onto it so tight that his knuckles were becoming paler, as the occasional string of electrical energy ran along the shaft between his fists.

Suddenly though, along with the lines of electricity ran lines of black flame. The smell of the daemonic spice began to gain dominion over the newly emerging smell of burning flesh and cloth. It spread from the staff and over Brooklyn's entire body.

Fang pulled the blade out before the flames came near his arm, guessing that the flames would probably cover him in a second as well if he didn't get back.

He took several steps back as the flames that had enveloped Brooklyn vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Brooklyn swayed slightly; the hole that should have been in his chest from where Fang had stabbed him wasn't there, although the front of his shirt was damp and the same shade of crimson as his own skin.

Brooklyn's eyes were burning that creepy shade of blue as he looked up at the cougar mutate. He took several steps forwards as Fang started backing away from him, slowly.

"That was low Fang. Even for you," growled Brooklyn. He stopped advancing and took a defensive posture with the staff, the flames that still danced along the shaft of the weapon vanishing.

"Try that again. I dare you."

Fang didn't move, but the electrical energy stopped crackling along the blades of his war-knives.

Brooklyn smiled at this. "Okay. You don't use your powers, and I won't use mine. Deal?"

Fang nodded and suddenly came at Brooklyn again, slashing low with his left and high with his right. Brooklyn started off backwards, deflecting both attacks with his staff before countering with an upward slash with the spear end. Fang crossed his blades and blocked low, stopping the blade and then leaping backwards as Brooklyn pulled his weapon back and tried to bring the skull end down on Fang's head.

They circled for a moment and then came at each other again.

As Faith watched she heard a growl and turned just enough to see Riana come at her right from the corner of her eye, swinging her _Kukri_ in a downward arc. Faith leapt back from her and twisted about, bringing the tonfa in her left hand up to deflect the attack.

Riana darted out quickly again and then came at the female Inquisitor, to the left this time. Faith blocked the attack, muttering a curse at how the force of the blow stung her wrist before she threw herself forward into her opponent's chest with as much force as she could.

Riana swore as she was knocked off balance. She stumbled back and swung her dagger in front of her to prevent Faith from taking advantage of her vulnerable position.

Faith came in low though, just below Riana's swings, making a sweep with her right leg, hitting Riana's ankles and knocking her legs from under her. As Riana fell back Faith suddenly leapt into the air, hoping to come down on top of Riana and hopefully pin her down so she could break her neck with the shaft of her tonfa.

But Riana's reflexes proved to be just as remarkable as her strength. As Faith came down on her, Riana managed to lift her feet up to her chest as her back hit the tiled ground. As Faith came in Riana's feet connected with her stomach. Riana used Faith's own momentum to send her flying over her by kicking her legs out and rolling back at the same time.

Faith swore as she flew through the air and brought her arms up to cover her face as she came down on the floor, at where Fang had destroyed one of the potted plants, and so the ground here had a lot of dirt and broken pottery around.

Faith skidded along the ground for about a meter before she came to a stop, the tonfa flying out of her hand and landing just a little way off to the left. She got on her knees and looked behind her, just in time to see Riana get up on her feet and come right at her.

When Riana was but about a foot away, she brought her left leg up, aiming for Faith's ribs. Faith had still yet to get up from her knees and so brought her arms up, but not in time. Riana's leg struck her in the chest, and Faith could distinctly hear the sound of at least one of her ribs cracking. She brought her arms up though, managing to catch Riana's leg before she could fall backwards or Riana withdrew for another attack.

Fuelled both by a building rage and adrenaline, Faith managed to hold onto Riana's leg while pulling herself up. Before Riana could react, Faith hit her across the face with a backhand punch with her left fist, drawing blood from Riana's top lip as Faith let go of her now outstretched leg and fell backwards. She rolled back as soon as she hit the ground and was on her feet in a moment.

Riana and Faith stood at roughly two meters apart. Riana was standing in a complex looking fighting posture, a smirk on her face as she licked up the blood flowing down her lip.

Faith was hunched over slightly, her right arm crossed over her chest to protect her damaged ribs. Her breathing was harsh and rasping. Each breath seemed to burn her lungs from within and her head and her vision wasn't totally clear from a sudden lack of oxygen. She shook her head to try and clear it, willing herself not to lose, not to this scum. She had to focus. This woman was abnormally strong and fast, which suggested she might have undergone some sort of enhancement.

From the look of her companions, she suspected that the daemonic was probably involved somewhere.

Riana licked her lips again as she came towards the female Inquisitor, slowly, but also with confidence. She knew this fight was hers now. Her opponent was injured and having troubles breathing, not that she probably wouldn't fight to the end anyway, but that was to be expected of one of her kind.

But in the end she would lose, just like all the rest.

Brooklyn and Fang locked weapons for a brief moment, giving each other looks of absolute hate before they broke apart. Brooklyn began to fall back, the staff in hands becoming a blur as he deflected thrusts, slashes and everything else that Fang threw at him as they danced along the tiled floor, their weapons creating sparks as the clashed.

Fang dashed in suddenly; swinging both his blades in a downward arc similar to an axe-handle smash. Brooklyn brought up his staff in both hands and met them with the shaft of his daemonstaff, blocking the two twin-edged, twelve-inch long chrome blades. Fang tried to bring his right foot up to kick Brooklyn away, but the gargoyle anticipated this move and shot his left foot up and caught Fang's ankle before he got his foot up more than a few inches off the floor, bringing it back down and pinning it to the ground. Brooklyn managed to steal a smug grin at Fang as there weapons and feet locked before the cougar mutate brought up his other foot, keeping his balance just long enough to kick Brooklyn in the crotch.

As both fell backwards from the force of the attack, Brooklyn's eyes seemed to bulge for a moment before he let out a piercing scream of agony, while Fang now wore a smug look. Both hit the ground at about the same time, with Fang rolling with the fall immediately and coming back up on his feet in barely a second, while Brooklyn managed to roll over onto his side and started to get up on his hands and knees, groaning in pain as he did so in roughly the same span of time.

Fang came at him quickly, kicking the crimson gargoyle in the ribs as hard as he could, knocking Brooklyn over onto his back. He brought up his foot, with the intention of bringing it down on Brooklyn's head, but Brooklyn saw the foot coming and managed to roll across the ground before Fang's foot connected.

Brooklyn managed to get up on his feet in time to meet Fang's next attack. The cougar mutate shot out his left hand, the blade in it gleaming in the florescent lights on the ceiling above them, at Brooklyn's right. Brooklyn blocked with the staff but Fang followed up immediately, aiming low and stabbing Brooklyn in his left hip, twisting the blade and opening the wound in his flesh as widely as possible before pulling it out and falling back before Brooklyn could attempt any retaliation.

Brooklyn screamed. The pain he felt in his leg was unbelievable. He staggered back as the left leg of his trousers became damp and a much darker shade of brownish red. He shook his head, feeling weak and dizzy all of a sudden.

Fang roared and came in again.

There was a feeling of pain before anything else. The sort that left him feeling as if someone was going at his head with a jackhammer.

So this was what a migraine was like.

The darkness, which had previously been all encompassing, now began to recede, as a crack of light appeared, and slowly began to dominate his vision, leaving just a collection of blueish spots that seemed to be dangling above his head, forever just out of reach, until they eventually faded away.

He groaned, both in pain and in vexation.

This was getting ridiculous.

Just how many more times was he going to be everybody else's punching bag?

He could see what appeared to be the bottom half of some sort of balcony, tiled a brilliant white and with over hanging fluorescent lights that stung his eyes if he looked into them for too long. Over the edge of this, he could see the edge of some sort of glass dome, with bright white rods of permanent scaffolding criss-crossing it, while above both this and the glass, the odd cloud, their outlines lit up by a setting sun that he couldn't see, moved aimlessly along a darkening sky. He shifted his head so that it was on its side, and immediately regretted dong this. He felt a sudden lance of pain rise up from his stomach as he twisted the rest of his body on the hard, cold floor so that he now lay on his side.

He began to feel dizzy and the spots returned. He could taste a strange mixture of blood and bile at the back of his throat. Shaking hands covered his stomach. His shirt and T-shirt clung to his mid-section, damp with a thick, warm liquid that flowed from small punctures that sent further lances of agony through him whenever they were touched. He briefly wondered just how much blood someone could lose before they passed out and died.

There was the echo of metal hitting metal, and the familiar sound of voices raised in anger, though whether it was from the pain he felt in his head or the way he was lying, it was difficult to discern both from where they were coming from and how far away they were.

Mal groaned and swore at the same time.

Fang, Faith or both could be in danger, and here he was, doing nothing, relying on others to do the fighting. To keep him safe, like some helpless child.

_-I am not helpless.-_

He grunted, ignoring the pain he felt surge through him, his arms pushing him up his knees now, fuelled by a rush of adrenaline caused by the rage he felt building up inside of him. His head began to swirl and he nearly toppled from a wave of dizziness, but he shook it off, willing it to go away.

_-I am not weak.-_

He stood up and fell forward immediately, but his hands shot out and pushed against a support column to keep himself upright until he could focus and stand on his own again. His head was throbbing still; the pain in his stomach was getting sharper. Another wave of dizziness nearly toppled him.

He shook his head again, his eyes closed tight and his teeth clenched, while holding on as best he could to the white washed stone column. He'd had worse than this; the scars and the limp he had in his walk were testament to this fact. This was nothing compared to some of the things he'd gone through in his life.

He pushed himself off the column, and nearly fell over before he could regain enough balance to lean against the column as the dizziness came back, just as the spots in front of his eyes. His stomach seemed to contract suddenly and he felt like throwing up.

But then again, he'd been a gargoyle when going through all those things, and their bodies were a lot tougher than the frail human form he was at the moment. It was amazing how easily they could be damaged.

He pushed himself off the column again, loosing his balance momentarily but then regaining it quickly. His breathing was becoming more controlled, and the spots in front of his eyes had vanished again. There were the sounds of fighting still going on, so hopefully he wasn't too late.

He reached into his coat, and pulled one of the two tonfa he had hanging on the empty loopholes on his pants that were supposed to be used for holding a belt. He held it tightly by the handle; it was very different from the plain wooden ones that Faith used.

Hers were wooden, but his were made of titanium, with the shafts hollowed to reduce the weight. But apart from that the dimensions were similar to any type of the weapon.

It resembled a police nightstick. The main shaft, with rounded, blunt ends, was twenty-one inches in length. Five inches from the top or "head" of the tonfa, a six inch long handle, in this case, a diamond black ribbed one with a chrome, blunt ended tip, came out at a ninety degree angle. He held onto this tightly, while the main part of the shaft ran under his arm, protecting it while the shorter, five-inch long end, jutted out below his fist, making any punch with it very dangerous.

In the months previous to Brooklyn's madness, when they all had been living together, Mal had found them hanging on one of the walls in one of Macbeth's many training rooms and had taken a liking to them. Unlike the swords that Brooklyn loved and the guns and knives Fang seemed interested in, these didn't look like they could kill instantly.

At least, they couldn't in his hands. Nobody seemed to actually know the proper way to use them in his home, but he seemed to get the hang of them after a while. Faith had also been kind enough to teach him a few moves, but unsurprisingly, a lot of them ended or began with pummelling the opponent's crotch with them, which often left him and any other males who watched her demonstrations, cringe a little.

He pulled the other tonfa from its loophole and turned around, managing to avoid toppling over.

Fang and Brooklyn were fighting quite savagely with each other, although it looked like Fang had the advantage. Mal stared at the crimson gargoyle, and then up at the sky that he could see through the glass ceiling.

It wasn't dark. So how the Hell was Brooklyn able to wander around as a gargoyle?

Brooklyn thrust out with the spear end of a bizarre looking staff he was carrying, aiming for Fang's stomach, but the mutate crossed both of his knifes and knocked the serrated tip down, just between his legs. He seemed to notice Mal was up out of the corner of his eye.

"Kid! Help Faith!" he managed to yell, before Brooklyn pulled the spear tip back and suddenly brought the other, much heavier end of the staff, with the black human skull in the corona, in a fast downward arc that Fang just managed to block with his crossed knives. There were several holes in Brooklyn's outfit, outlined in dark brown and red, but the cuts in the flesh all had apparently healed, leaving only a few scars.

Mal nodded and darted past them, as Fang stamped on Brooklyn's tail, which the gargoyle had been using to try and trip him up, causing him to roar in pain and howl insults at the dirtily grinning cougar mutate.

He saw Faith, fighting desperately with some woman in a brown dress with a huge _Kukri _dagger.

The woman in the dress struck out at Faith, who seemed to be having trouble breathing. Her _Kukri_ dagger was met by Faith's black security tonfa, but the _Kukri_ knocked Faith's weapon out of her hand with the strength of the attack, sending the female Inquisitor back while her weapon flew threw the air and over the side of the balcony rail, landing with a clatter somewhere on the tiled ground floor below.

The woman cackled madly, but Faith grabbed a twisted, battered steel chair that was lying on the ground by one of its protruding legs and hurled it at her opponent, catching her by surprise and hitting her in the face, knocking her backwards, as Faith came in suddenly and delivered a ruthless side kick to the woman's flat stomach, knocking her off her feet and sending the Kukri clattering along the floor, stopping near where Mal was.

Mal bent over and picked it up as he rushed past where the woman lay and over to Faith, who seemed relieved at his appearance.

"Are you alright?" they both asked, almost simultaneously.

"I'm fine," said Mal quickly, looking Faith over worriedly. "You look pretty bad though."

"Oh I'm okay," replied Faith quickly, through gritted teeth. She was bent over slightly, her right arm wrapped tightly around her chest. Her breathing was harsh. "Just…just give me a minute…I'll be alright."

Mal frowned, but knowing better, he said nothing, instead offering her one of his own tonfa, which Faith took immediately in her left hand, while keeping her right arm pressed against her chest.

There was a very low, infuriated growl from the woman as she stood up and ran quickly over to where a very large, black leather whip was lying. She scooped it up quickly and turned to face her two opponents.

She looked over Mal curiously, and a smile formed across her bleeding lips as she did so. "So who dresses you? Ace Ventura?"

Mal glared dirtily at Riana. "Fuck you lady!"

"Yeah," chimed in Faith, seeing an opening. "And at least what he's wearing doesn't make him look fat!"

Riana's smile vanished in an instant. She looked first at Faith, and then at Mal. "Fat?" She seemed to start shaking, while the man sitting in the chair burst out laughing.

"FAT?" screamed Riana, enraged beyond words. "Let's see how pretty you two are then when I cut your fucking heads off!"

She came at them, snapping out her whip at Faith, a move the female Inquisitor had been expecting. As it came at her, Faith twisted her wrist holding Mal's tonfa, swinging the weapon around until the long part of the shaft came out from under her fist and brought it up in front of her face. Riana's whip shot out and wrapped around the chrome shaft roughly. At the same instant, Faith pulled the tonfa back as hard as she could, pulling Riana forward, knocking her off balance as she came forward.

Mal came at her as this happened. Ducking below Riana's taut whip, he bent down low and went under Riana's arm. He then swung his right hand in an upwards-right hook, snapping his wrist as his fist came close to Riana's head, causing the tonfa to twirl in his hand in the same direction his arm. The rear, longer end of the shaft swung about in a blur, and struck Riana across the face, the force of the attack actually stopping her in her tracks and sending her reeling back, making her lose her grip on her whip, only to have it fly out of her hand as Faith pulled on the other end again.

Riana toppled, fell, but didn't rise immediately. Fortunately for her, Mal had backed off after he had floored her, while Faith was busy gathering Riana's whip together, so neither of them tried to take advantage of her moment's vulnerability.

Riana did rise though after several seconds. She stood up, swayed slightly, and then looked over at Mal and Faith. The two of them were standing side by side, at the ready. Faith was holding both Riana's whip, wrapped up, and her _Kukri_ dagger, loosely in her right hand.

Riana checked her teeth with her tongue, and swore viciously when she felt at least two teeth were missing from her lower jaw. She looked at the two nothings in front of her. That had been the first to do her any real damage in a very, very long time.

Her glare locked on to Faith, who was matching her hate-ridden look with one of her own.

She raised her shaking hand and pointed at the weapons Faith had dangling in her hand.

"Give me those back," she growled, her voice barely audible. "Before I skin you alive."

Faith, who was still bent over slightly, looked down at the indicated weapons. Slowly, she raised her hand up with them in it, until it was right in front of her. She actually managed to crack a smile before she threw her hand back, sending the _Kukri _and whip over the rail behind her, down onto the ground floor, hitting the tiles with a clatter, that seemed to echo throughout the cavernous expanse of the mall's interior.

Time seemed to slow, as Riana looked over at the edge of the balcony for a moment, and then turned her gaze back to Mal and Faith. She looked at them, through suddenly cold eyes.

"Now I will kill you slowly."

Brooklyn struck first left, then right with the staff, surging forward as he did so, forcing Fang on the defensive. The cougar mutate started back, nearly tripping over some ruined pottery as he did so. Brooklyn slashed at him as he nearly toppled, cutting a line along his T-shirt around his chest, drawing a small amount of blood, and causing Fang to yell out in pain.

The cougar mutate fell back, trying to dodge any follow up Brooklyn might have. The second his back hit the floor he brought his legs up and rolled backwards onto one knee. As he came up, Brooklyn raised the staff up above his head in both hands, the spearhead pointing down towards Fang. As Fang was looking up at him, Brooklyn thrust the spear down at his enemy, aiming for his heart.

Fang swore and managed to bring his knives up. Everything seemed to slow down, as the serrated spear tip raced towards his heart, too fast and too hard for him to hope to dodge. While at the same time, his blades were coming up, far slower by the looks of it, to try and block or at least divert the path of the spear tip.

And then there was the deafening _clang_ as the spear tip stopped, just a couple of inches away from Fang's heart. Brooklyn howled in frustration.

Fang's blades had managed to lock in with some of the serrated edges of the blade of the spear.

Eyes blazing white, roaring like a rabid beast, Brooklyn pushed the spear down with all his might. Fang, suddenly feeling very blessed, roared as well and tried to push the spear away with as much strength as he could muster, while trying to stand and get a better foot hold and reduce Brooklyn's advantage.

Straining, his arms shaking with sudden exhaustion, Fang pushed against Brooklyn, screaming hoarsely. He managed to get both his feet planted on the ground, his left knee bent down, pushing against the crimson gargoyle while his right leg was outstretched behind it, keeping him from loosing his balance. With great effort, Fang managed to force the blade away by an inch or so more from his chest, while raising it up so that now the tip was pointing right at his face. He could actually make out weird designs along the blade itself that stung the eyes to look at.

Fang managed to frown.

This wasn't going to work. Brooklyn might not be as strong physically as him (and that was only by a very sleek margin), but he had the distinct advantage of pushing his weapon down, while Fang had to strain to force it up, while trying to secure his footing to do so as well, making this exercise a whole lot harder.

He wouldn't be able to keep this up for a lot longer, and then Brooklyn would run him right through like a piece of meat.

His chest began to ache, as did his shoulders. He could taste blood in his mouth, while he could feel yet another tooth coming loose with his tongue. He looked up and right into Brooklyn's flaming white eyes, his face contorted into and animalistic snarl. Right there and then, it was easy to believe Brooklyn was insane. He seemed to have at least inherited the extra strength that any madman seemed to possess. He wondered if that amulet Brooklyn was wearing that Mal told him about could really destroy someone's conscience, make them utterly indifferent to the suffering of others.

Fang would have probably continued on with this thought for a moment longer, but he was suddenly snapped out of this train of thought by the sound of something he realised that he should have been prepared for as soon as he caught that glimpse of Brooklyn as he was climbing back up onto the overhead balcony.

The echo of sirens nearby, getting closer with each passing second.

-SHIT!-

He managed a quick look over at Brooklyn, who looked just as surprised as he did. He'd even turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder.

No sooner had Fang noticed this then he made his move.

Pushing himself forward and upwards with his rear foot, he used his knives to roughly jar Brooklyn's staff to the right, while putting all his weight on his left leg, which was the one in front, and twisting about clockwise on his left foot.

As Brooklyn suddenly found himself coming forward, the spear end of his staff heading down and forward into air, Fang was now just to his right, still twisting about on the balls of his left foot. Then there was a suddenly gleam of metal in the fluorescent lights, and Fang, now fully twisted about and safe from Brooklyn's thrust, lashed out with the blade in his right hand as his spin was just coming to an end, aiming for Brooklyn's head.

The knife cut right into Brooklyn's right cheek, slicing right through the flesh as if it were butter, scraping against teeth and cutting a thin, bloody hole into Brooklyn's tongue, before continuing on, cutting of the cheek's flesh, and out and along the beak, the blade cutting a line along the thin layer of skin the whole way along the right side of the beak, creating a trail of blood vapour behind it.

Brooklyn's eyes, their flare suddenly gone, seemed to widen as his mouth filled up with blood, that gushed out of the hole in his cheek, as he continued to fall forward.

Fang leapt back as it looked like Brooklyn was about to fall flat on his face, gripping the handles of his knives tightly, a confident smile on his face.

Brooklyn wasn't quite as tough as he thought he was.

But then Brooklyn stopped falling. He stopped several inches from the ground and stuck a foot forward and pushed him self upright, as Fang watched, stunned.

Brooklyn turned around and faced Fang, both his eyes and his staff blazing with pale blue flame. The huge gash Fang had made on his right cheek vanished before the mutate's eyes, leaving only scar tissue along the wound along the flesh and beak.

He looked at Fang, through flaming, hate ridden eyes.

"This farce," he growled, raising his right hand and pointing his open palm at Fang. "Is over!"

A bolt of blue flame shot out of Brooklyn's hand, aiming for Fang's head. The mutate saw it coming and ducked below it, the shot singing the tips of the fur on his head before flying across to the other side of the mall and detonating a support column, the force of the explosion shattering the glass in several nearby shops, while chunks of concrete filled the air.

Fang dived in at Brooklyn at about waist height, dropping his knives and grabbed hold of the handle of the Faith's Glock that Brooklyn had shoved into his trousers, pulling the handgun out, before leaping back, narrowly dodging a single handed swipe by Brooklyn's daemonstaff.

No sooner had Fang landed than he raised the gun in both hands and pointed it at Brooklyn's head.

But Brooklyn reacted before Fang had a chance to fire.

A small blast of daemonic energy shot out from the empty sockets of the obsidian skull on top of the staff. The streak of pale blue flame hit Fang full on in the chest, the strength of the attack lifting Fang off his feet completely before he could pull the trigger.

The mutate flew right through the air for a dozen feet, before hitting the ground and crashing loudly into the wreckage of one of the steel tables, several shards of glass that had been part of the design cutting into him as he bent the metal further before bouncing hard along the ground, only stopping when he crashed into the wall, smashing his head into the concrete and nearly breaking his neck. The gun flew out of his hand at this point, hitting the ground and skidding along the tiles, stopping about half way between Fang and where Faith and Mal were still fighting Riana.

Fang lay where he had hit one of the walls, most of his T-shirt burned away, the fur covering of his chest and belly was charred, smoking slightly, while his crumpled body on its side, utterly limp.

Brooklyn smiled and began to walk forward at a suddenly confident pace for where Fang lay, stopping to pick up the knife Faith had kicked out of his hand earlier, his smile becoming supremely evil.

"It's about time I skinned myself a kitty."

"PETER!"

Faith blocked Riana's left hook and kicked in the stomach, sending her staggering back. The Inquisitor turned about and ran over to where Fang was lying, ignoring the surge of pain she felt in her lungs, while hoping Mal could keep that hellion busy for just a few moments.

Brooklyn stopped as he noticed her coming. He growled in fury and threw the knife at her, but Inquisitor Thompson dived forward, wrapping her left hand around the handle of her trusted Glock as she rolled forward and then leapt up onto her feet, only a few yards away from Brooklyn.

As she brought the pistol up, aiming for Brooklyn's head, the crimson gargoyle's eyes flared pale blue, as he spoke a single word in the daemon's tongue.

Faith had the gun aimed at Brooklyn's head, but suddenly she couldn't pull the trigger. Her hand felt numb suddenly. He couldn't even lower her arm. It was as if some unseen force had seized control of her entire arm.

The smell of daemonic spice, coming in thick wafts, suddenly entered her nose, and she swore under her breath.

Grunting in rage, Faith's right arm came up, her hand wrapping around the handle, her fingers trying to squeeze their way into the guard to pull the trigger. But predictably, they too become numb, under Brooklyn's daemonic grip, the rest of her body following an instant later.

"Faith!" screamed Mal. "Hold on!"

Riana came at him but he lashed out at her with his tonfa, hoping to keep her away long enough to try and get to Brooklyn before he could do something to Faith.

But the man in the brown suit he'd seen watching them fight suddenly came at him from the right, swinging a black staff low and hitting Mal hard on the injured part of his stomach. Mal coughed in agony, doubling over and dropping his tonfa, as he felt the metallic taste of blood rise in the back of his throat again.

The man lashed out again, this time with the other end of his staff, aiming low, behind Mal as he doubled over, hitting the back of his knees and sweeping his legs out from under him. He landed on his back, getting the breath knocked out of him. He tried to get up, managing to rise to his knees before Riana came at him from behind, wrapping her arms around his and pulling them back, holding him tightly now in a vice-like grip.

Mal screamed and began to struggle for all he was worth, but Riana was a great deal stronger than he was as a human, and so his efforts were in vain.

"Hold him tight Riana!" yelled Brooklyn. "But don't hurt him anymore! If anyone gets to torture that little piece of shit it's gonna be me!"

Brooklyn then looked over at Faith; his eyes still flaming blue, the smile along his beak disgustingly superior. The smell of the daemon around him now was so thick it nearly overwhelmed her.

"My, my…aren't we in a bit of trouble?"

Faith was still standing in the same position, trapped in it. But her arms were shaking; drops of sweat were running down her wrinkled forehead as she grunted in effort to get control of her limbs back.

Her emerald eyes caught Brooklyn's triumphant grin as he spoke.

"B-b-bastard..." she managed to growl through gritted teeth.

Brooklyn chuckled and looked her over again. "You know, ever since I started this little quest of mine, I've had nothing but fucking trouble from your gang of bible thumbing nutjobs. So I'm gonna take a great deal of pleasure from this."

His smile vanished. He leaned forward, till his face was barely inches from hers.

"Put the gun to your head." He commanded. "Now."

To Faith's horror, her arms began to move by themselves. Her right hand let go of the gun, while her left held on tightly to it, and began to raise it towards her head.

She screamed and fought Brooklyn's control, fought it with every ounce of her being, fighting desperately for control again.

But Brooklyn's power, his will, was too strong, even for someone like her.

She watched her arm, with the hand holding her favourite gun at the end of it; move up in slow motion, like a movie almost, travelling along the side of her head until it went out of her field of vision. She then felt the barrel press against her temple. So hard against her skull that it hurt.

"And now," whispered Brooklyn. "Pull the trigger. And put yourself out of my misery."

Now things really did seem to slow down, as if perhaps it was just a scene in a movie. It gave her a feeling of detachment to the madness that was happening now.

She could feel her fingers moving, tightening around the trigger, and pulling it back.

Mal's voice, sounding as it were a thousand miles away, came to her ears, the words lost, unidentifiable, but the tone came in clear somehow.

Images of people that had shaped her life suddenly flooded into her mind.

Her father, Inquisitor Renier, Inquisitor Thorpe, Father (and now Bishop) Sanchez, Mrs. Felps, the teacher she had in kindergarten with the round face and wire glasses, and…

…Peter.

How can so much happen? How can so many people have such an influence on someone's life? To nudge or shove one person's course over decades until it leads them to die a pointless death on the first floor of a mall on the other side of the world from where they were born?

Faith Thompson shut her eyes, not wanting to give Brooklyn the satisfaction of seeing the sorrow she suddenly felt inside of her. Her last act of defiance, she realised suddenly.

To endure so much, just to die in such a way…

"Do it," whispered Brooklyn, eyes flaring. "Die."

Her eyes shut tight, praying silently for forgiveness, Inquisitor Faith; Alice Thompson's left hand gripped the gun tightly, keeping it pressed hard against her head, pulled the trigger.

And then…

To be continued…

Additional Author's note: Huge thanks to Caboose for tonnes and tonnes of moral support and helpful suggestions! You rock dude! Also huge thanks to everybody who actually takes the time to read my utter garbage! You guys rock too!

As usual, suggestions, comments, flames etc, etc all welcome!

The next part should be done and dusted in a few months time! J

Toodles!

Darkness


	18. Hell's Angels

**Hell's Angels**

Author: Darkness

E-Mail: 

Fang (narrating): Previously, on "Gargoyles"

Brooklyn chuckled and looked her over again. "You know, ever since I started this little quest of mine, I've had nothing but fucking trouble from your gang of bible thumbing nutjobs. So I'm gonna take a great deal of pleasure from this."

His smile vanished. He leaned forward, till his face was barely inches from hers.

"Put the gun to your head." He commanded. "Now."

To Faith's horror, her arms began to move by themselves. Her right hand let go of the gun, while her left held on tightly to it, and began to raise it towards her head.

She screamed and fought Brooklyn's control, fought it with every ounce of her being, fighting desperately for control again.

But Brooklyn's power, his will, was too strong, even for someone like her.

"And now," whispered Brooklyn. "Pull the trigger. And put yourself out of my misery."

Her eyes shut tight, praying silently for forgiveness, Inquisitor Faith, Alice Thompson's left hand gripped the gun tightly, keeping it pressed hard against her head, pulled the trigger.

And then…

(cue dramatic music)

Fang: And now…the conclusion.

…nothing happened.

Faith's pistol, her Glock 17, which had served her for almost five years now without fault or failure, simply didn't fire.

Faith, who had been awaiting the inevitable, opened her eyes, baffled and more than slightly relieved.

What had just happened?

Her Glock could hold seventeen rounds before a new clip was needed. As far as she could remember, the gun had only been fired four times since the fight started, so it couldn't be out of bullets. The safety was definitely off; otherwise the trigger wouldn't have budged when Brooklyn had ordered her to pull it. Could it be a jam? Impossible, when she considered how well she kept the weapon.

Then what?

The Inquisitor part of her automatically insisted that this was some sort of act of God, but there was just something about this that made her doubt that.

She looked over at Brooklyn. If this had surprised the gargoyle, he was certainly taking it in his stride.

Brooklyn didn't even seem to notice she was standing there anymore, but when Faith tried to move, she still found that she was under his daemonic grip.

The gargoyle was looking around him, a cheated look upon his face. His eyes seemed to stop at some point behind Faith, perhaps on the other side of the first floor of the mall. His eyes flared again, but his beak formed a cocky grin.

"And I though you sunk low by switching sides and protecting humans," he said, still grinning. "But come on Demms. An Inquisitor? Can't get much lower than that."

Faith suddenly felt feeling come back into her arms. It came back so unexpectedly that she almost lost her balance. But she recovered quickly and started backing off from Brooklyn to where she guessed Demona was, while now pointing her pistol at him.

"I suggest you point that elsewhere Inquisitor," came Demona's voice from behind her. It sounded a little strained. "I can't keep it frozen forever."

Faith nodded and pointed the pistol upwards. No sooner had she done so than the gun boomed and jerked in her hand, sending the 9mm round into the air and smashing into some concrete and destroying part of one of the tiles above.

Brooklyn started backing away cautiously as Demona came forward from Faith's left. She was still human, with her navy business jacket lying open, and Faith could just see part of a harness under it for holding a firearm. Her arms were outstretched before her, her left hand open palmed, and her right holding a gun of some sort.

She looked over at Brooklyn, who had backed off a good twenty yards now and was near where Riana was holding Mal tightly in her grip, while the fat man in the brown suit she didn't know stood at the ready a couple of feet from them, a raven headed staff held expertly in his hands.

Brooklyn stopped, holding his own staff loosely in his right hand, with that cocky smile on his beak, while the flame in his eyes had gone, allowing his hazel eyes to look at the pair with disgusting superiority.

"So," he said, gesturing towards Demona's gun. "Just what are you gonna do with that?"

The gun in Demona's hand looked like some sort of space-aged version of the old Walther P38s that the Germans had used during the Second World War, with an extended circular barrel and an extended clip that could be seen protruding out from below the handle.

Brooklyn stared at the gun curiously. "Is that one of those laser pistols your company's supposed to make?"

"It's a Nightstone T8," replied Dominique Destine coldly, still pointing the pistol at Brooklyn.

The crimson gargoyle cocked his head as he continued to smile at the most hated person in his world. "And what, pray tell, are you planning to do with it?"

"I thought that should be obvious." Said Dominique flatly, cocking the gun and aiming for Brooklyn's chest. "I'm going to shoot you."

Brooklyn openly scoffed at that. "Oh please! You do know what'll happen to you then if you kill me right?" he took another step backwards, his arms spread out and with that dirty smirk still on his face.

"I'm fully aware of the rules Brooklyn," replied Dominique coldly. "I know the consequences of me shooting you. But that won't stop me from doing it."

The smirk vanished. "But…you'll die too."

Dominique said nothing. Everyone was left where they were for several moments; the only audible sound was of the police sirens that were getting ever closer.

Brooklyn took another step back as his smile returned, though it lacked the confidence of before.

"You're bluffing," he growled. "You've only started tasting life again. Enjoying everything that you stole from me."

"I didn't steal anything you had Brooklyn. You threw it away."

Brooklyn's eyes flared and he growled suddenly, utterly furious. "I threw nothing away!" he screamed. "You did it! You stole it all! It's all your fault! _It's always your fault!_"

"Inquisitor," said Dominique, while keeping her eyes on Brooklyn. "I want you to point your gun at my head."

Faith had been splitting her gaze between where Fang lay, where Mal was being held by Riana, at Brooklyn and at her own shaking hands. But when Dominique said that, she looked up at her, stunned.

"What Demona?"

"I want you to point your gun at my head," repeated Dominique slowly, and loud enough for Brooklyn to hear every word. "And then I want you to keep your eyes firmly on Brooklyn and his two lackeys. If any of them try anything funny or you think they're going to do something that's suspicious I want you to fire. That'll put Brooklyn out of the picture long enough for you to drop his two accomplices."

"Fire that gun," growled Brooklyn, "and Riana will snap Mal's treacherous little neck in two!"

"Well if you let him go!" retorted Faith aiming the gun at Demona's head and pulling the hammer back with her thumb for effect, now getting the gargess' plan. "Then they'll be no need for anybody to get shot now will there?"

Brooklyn looked between Dominique and Faith and back again, his entire body quivering in rage as his eyes flared like twin blue supernovas.

"I don't have time for this!" he growled through gritted teeth.

The sound of sirens grew closer, before the _thwop, thwop, thwop_ing of a helicopter could be heard coming towards the mall.

Rincewald, who was standing near where Riana was holding Mal, looked up into the air and swore very imaginatively.

Faith smiled dirtily at Brooklyn. "Sounds like you've less time than you thought."

Brooklyn looked around for a moment, snarling. "We're going," he growled after a moment. He then gestured over to Mal, who had been quite still as he watched the little tirade. "But we're taking this little shit with us as collateral."

"No you aren't," said Dominique in a matter-of-fact way. "If you take one step away from me with him then I'll shoot you down."

"Shoot me and he dies. And then so do you."

"Are you forgetting what you, him and that walking rug did to me?" said Dominique. "I couldn't care less if he dies or not. But Goliath and the others will." She paused for a moment, her face and tone unreadable. "But then again they aren't here, and Fang's unconscious. And you and I won't be in a position to explain things because I'll have shot you and therefore myself. You can't answer questions when you're dead."

"But you'll be dead too Demona," said Brooklyn, the confidence in his voice fading. "You'll…you'll abandon your daughter? Just like that?"

Dominique broke her cold expression with a proud smile. "I doubt she ever needed me. She's immensely strong, and has the love of a man much more loyal and with greater heart than you could ever have."

Brooklyn's eyes flared, while his body began to shake madly. "Your daughter," he growled slowly, almost inaudibly. "Is a slut. And that 'man' she's stuck herself with is a bastard. The product of a stupid old fart, an ugly desperate woman, and a lot of cheap ale. There's nothing there to be proud of. If anything their child should be pitied."

Dominique glared balefully at the gargoyle for a moment, before continuing, as if she hadn't heard what Brooklyn had said. "And if you succeed, I'm sure that her and her unborn child will perish. I won't let that happen Brooklyn. I won't."

"So then what the Hell happens now?" roared Rincewald suddenly. "Do you expect us to all stand around like idiots and wait for militia to shoot this place up?"

"No," said Faith. "You let Mal go. Then you can all bugger off and we can settle this another time."

Brooklyn's eyes flared. Outside, he could hear the sound of rubber skidding on tarmac. "Let him go Riana," he growled through gritted teeth, keeping his blazing eyes firmly on Dominique and Faith.

"But-" started Riana.

"I won't say it again dammit!" roared Brooklyn. "Let him go!"

Riana looked hatefully at the back of Brooklyn's head as she loosened her grip on Mal's arms.

"Count yourself lucky," she whispered in his ear as the gargoyle-turned-human stood up shakily, not looking back in her direction as he scrambled over to Fang's side, stopping only to grab both his fallen tonfa, not even looking back at Brooklyn as the gargoyle started backing off towards Rincewald.

"We'll be taking our leave now," said Brooklyn. He looked over at Faith. "It's been interesting Inquisitor. I hope we can finish this little episode next time. Without interruption."

"There won't be a next time," stated Dominique, as she pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times in total, each pull being accompanied by a jolt and a crack from the pistol in her right hand.

Brooklyn stood stark still, his eyes wide with shock, swaying slightly. He looked down at himself, at where he had been shot. He could see the tail ends of three darts. Two were sticking out of his stomach, while the other was protruding from his left shoulder. He swore silently as a feeling of numbness and exhaustion began to overwhelm him suddenly.

Tranquillisers? Why the Hell didn't he think of that?

He mustered enough of his rapidly fading strength to look up at Dominique, at Demona's triumphantly smiling face. That was clever. Tranquillisers would take him down, but not cause him, and thus Demona, any pain.

_-Tha…that…dir…dirty little…-_

A weak moan came from Brooklyn's lips before his eyes closed and fell silently backwards. Riana was already up and running towards him as he fell, and was able catch him under his arms before he collapsed completely. She looked down at him, growling. He was totally out of it. There was probably enough in those darts to keep him asleep for hours, days if even half of what he said about this Demona was accurate.

She looked up hatefully at the smiling Dominique. The CEO of Nightstone Inc. was looking quite proud of this dirty little trick.

She noticed that the Inquisitor that she'd wounded was now looking at her coldly, as she pulled her weapon away from Dominique's head and began to aim it towards her. As this happened Rincewald came forward suddenly, raising his staff and roaring something in the daemon's tongue.

A streak of green lightning suddenly shot out of his outstretched left hand, and tore through the air towards Dominique and Faith. The Inquisitor swore as Dominique roughly pushed her back while yelling something in a tongue Riana didn't know and threw her free arm up. A bent and twisted table (actually one of the ones Fang had landed on earlier) suddenly rose in the air and flew into the lightning blast's path, the magical attack destroying it utterly and sending a few scorched pieces of metal into the air.

As their opponents ducked, Rincewald came up beside Riana and began to mutter another spell, ignoring the streak of cuss words coming out of Riana's mouth as he tried to focus his mind on where their car had been parked.

As Dominique and Faith were rising, the trio and Brooklyn's staff, which was now hanging very loosely in its master's right hand, vanished in a ball of green flame.

The two women looked at the scorched patch of tiles where their enemies had been only seconds before. They both cursed very loudly.

"Faith! Demona!" yelled Mal desperately. "Help me here!"

The two looked over to where Mal was. The clone was on his knees beside Fang, who he'd managed to roll onto his back. The mutate still had his eyes closed, the fur on his chest and belly was charred black while his shirt, T-shirt and jacket were lying in pieces around his body, some parts were still smoking.

Faith was over in an instant, Dominique coming behind her just a second later. The both knelt down on either side of the cougar mutate while Mal moved over to give them room, biting his lower lip and looking very, very frightened.

"Is he gonna be alright?"

Dominique said nothing, instead running her hands over Fang's stomach and chest, her face forming into a grim frown as she did so.

Five broken ribs, no, six. Several third degree burns on his stomach, slightly worse on his chest. His breathing was worryingly shallow, his chest barely rising at all when he breathed in. He had hit his head against the ground and then the wall very hard, as he seemed to be badly concussed.

She looked over at Faith. The Inquisitor had Fang's head propped up with one of her hands while she used the other to gently slap him on the cheek, trying to wake him up. Dominique could see a trace of fear in her face too.

"I can't treat him here," she said after another moment's examination. "If we can get him into the van then I can treat his wounds there."

"He's not waking up," said Mal, looking down at his best friend's limp body. His hands kept opening and closing constantly as his grey eyes ran up and down the mutate's body, looking a sign, _any_ sign that he might wake up. "Christ he's…he's not waking up." The wail of sirens was now deafening. They all could hear heavy tires screeching to a halt just outside the entrance of the mall. Mal looked over the rail from where he stood, as the sounds of men shouting came to his ears. "Oh fuck it's the cops!"

He looked over at the kneeling Dominique, who had pulled out a mobile phone and was yelling into it, trying to be heard over the sirens. After few moments of this she switched it off and shoved it back into her jacket pocket.

"Jezebel's bringing the transport a few blocks closer to the rear of the building! We won't have as far to glide!" she yelled to Faith and Malibu. "We have to go now!" She stood up hurriedly and grabbed Fang's legs as she rose. "Take one of his arms each of you! Be careful of his wings!"

"Why don't you make him human first?!" yelled Faith, still kneeling. "He'd be easier to carry!"

Dominique shook her head quickly, the bun in her hair becoming a little loose. "If I made him human now then his injuries would probably kill him! We've no choice! Now hurry!"

Malibu and Faith took an arm each, each putting one arm under Fang's shoulders to prop his wings off the floor so they couldn't trip on them, while using the other arm to actually hold on to the cougar mutate's arms. Between the three of them straining as hard as they could they could barely get Fang more than a couple of feet off the ground as they tried to carry him off.

"Shit!" yelled Faith, after they'd gotten about a dozen yards. Her voice was strained; her breathing erratic and causing considerable pain due to the damage Riana had done to her chest. She'd nearly dropped him once already and had accidentally stepped on his dangling tail twice. "What the fuck has he been eating?!"

"Nearly anything that couldn't run away quick enough!" Mal yelled back, being quite serious. He didn't sound as bad as Faith, but his own hands were getting sweaty from effort and making his attempts to hold onto his part of Fang extremely difficult.

There was the sound of glass shattering somewhere below, followed by the thundering of many feet and the barking of orders by a harsh sounding Russian voice.

By this time the trio had managed to half carry Fang to near the rear of the floor they were on, where the tiling ended and was replaced by flat concrete that had probably been painted white once but had now faded to an unhealthy looking cream. As they approached a pair of double doors that had wire glass and a sign in red and white on the front that probably read something like "staff only" Dominique raised a hand, muttering something that couldn't be heard over the echoes of the sirens, and the doors flew wide open.

As they entered they found that the doors led to a small, well-lit corridor with the same faded walls that, in turn, led to a freight elevator that was probably used for transporting goods from the ground floor to the shops on the higher levels. There was also a door to the right that led to a set of stairs that was quite close to the elevator door.

Dominique punched the button in the centre of the wall panel by the doors, which slid open after a moment. They all staggered in and placed Fang on the ground for a moment, relieved at the brief respite, while Dominique hit a button on the inside control panel.

For a second the floor of the lift shook, and then it began to travel upwards.

"We're going up?" asked a surprised Malibu. He was on his knees beside Fang, panting and shaking slightly from the effort it had taken to carry him this far. "Why the Hell are we going up? We need to go down Demona! Fang needs help!"

"We can't go down you fool!" yelled Dominique impatiently. "The militia's probably surrounding the bottom floor already!" She leaned over and pulled her high heels off. "And they never ask questions. They just shoot!" She tossed the shoes unceremoniously away and checked her watch. "Alright. I believe that sunset will be in about five or six minutes from now. All we really have to do is get to the roof without incident. By that time the sun will have set and you and I can carry Faith and Fang away from here. I told Jezebel to park a few streets west of here. Near the harbour."

Mal nodded and looked down at Fang, watching his burnt chest and stomach rise weakly for a moment.

"Demona."

"Yes Malibu?" snapped Dominique, watching the counter on the control panel, as it indicated what floor they were on now.

"I…I know what we did to you was awful. And…well…"

The lift shook for the briefest second, before coming to a complete stop.

"Save it for another time!" yelled Dominique, as she rushed over to Fang and grabbed his legs again while the worn doors screeched open. "First let's just get out of here!"

Mal nodded slowly as he and Faith both grabbed Fang's arms and shoulders again and hauled him up. As they moved out Mal couldn't help but notice the look on the Inquisitor's face. She looked a little shaken.

"Faith. Are you okay?" he yelled, as Dominique shifted a little after they had gotten out and had raised a hand, open palmed to the elevator. The Inquisitor looked up at him and managed a smile, weak and forced.

"I'm…I'm fine Mal," she lied. "Just fine."

Mal opened his mouth to say something else, but he was rudely cut off when the steel cables that held up the elevator, snapped. As it dropped, gaining speed with every yard it fell, the air became filled with a deafening cacophony as metal collided and scored against concrete as the freight elevator fell three storeys, before being smashed against the ground, causing all within hearing distance to jump for a moment. .

Dominique pulled at Fang's legs, forcing Mal and Faith into moving again instead of looking own at the wreck down the shaft. "We have to keep moving!"

She led them to the stairs, roughly kicking open the doors that led upwards and on to the roof.

"Come on!"

Mal growled and swore under Fang's weight as they came to a turning point in the stairs. This was ridiculous.

"Demona, don't you know any sort of teleportation spell?" he managed to grunt.

"Several!" replied Dominique. "But all of them take a very long time!" She grunted as she helped haul Fang up the stairs. "And besides, I think the sun will set in another couple of minutes. We'll glide out then!"

"What about that helicopter?"

Dominique managed to give him a smile. It wasn't one he liked very much.

"Don't worry; I'll deal with the helicopter. Now move!"

After several more minutes they had reached the top of the stairs. There was a barred steel door that Dominique forced aside with a word. They scrambled outside. The sky was a deep red, with the occasional dark cloud floating about, silhouetted in the dwindling sunlight.

"Another minute or two!" yelled Dominique, letting go of Fang's legs and throwing off her jacket in a single, fluid motion. Mal noticed slits in the back of the white blouse, at where Demona's wings would sprout when the sun finally set. He felt a little embarrassed that he hadn't thought of doing that with the clothes he was wearing now.

A sound suddenly came on the wind. A heavy rumble that seemed to shake the air with its approach. He looked up to the East and saw the militia chopper coming towards them, at perhaps fifty feet above the rooftop. It was painted white, though at this moment of twilight, the hull looked like a matte grey. A powerful beam of white suddenly shot out from its chin, like some sort of laser blast, covering the quartet in blinding light that stunned them with its intensity.

A voice, thick to the point of irritation, boomed out from the speaker on the chopper as it settled to hover over the quartet, causing Mal's thin denim coat to flap as it came down closer, barking commands in Russian as a side door slid opened, and the marksman in the compartment hooked his harness onto the outside rail that hung above the door, before pressing his Dragunov SVD sniper rifle to his shoulder, and scanning the ground of the roof for any hostile movements from the three people and that…whatever it was two of them were holding.

"Oh shit!" yelled Mal, using an arm to cover his eyes. "Demona! What now?!"

Dominique looked up at the chopper, seemingly unaffected by the light that was blinding her colleagues. Her hair, that wild, fiery red mass, had gotten loose at some point, and was now billowing around her shoulders, as her business skirt flapped around her. Her gaze still fixed skyward, in a look of triumph.

"Now we leave."

The very last ray of the sun vanished below the black, serrated horizon of the city.

And a new sound joined the chopper's rotors; the tearing of cloth, the shifting of bones, and the inhuman roars of the guardians of the night.

_There was a strong wind blowing against him, beating hard against his body, making his wings, caped around him as a cloak, flap wildly._

_He shivered, both from the bitter chill and the strange feeling the wind caused inside of him. This wind wasn't natural. There was a power behind it, immense, unrelenting, but strangely good as well. _

_He stood near the foot of a hill, the power of the wind forcing his head to his chest. He was high up, perhaps near the summit of a mountain. _

_The echoes of cloth moving rapidly in the wind came to his ears, and he looked up at the summit, his eyes widening in surprise._

_Atop the summit was an altar of stone, multi-levelled, circular in shape. Around the altar, rings of men, or figures of men, as they were little more than silhouettes, stood in intricate patterns, holding large, grandly inscribed flags with what looked like Oriental writings, flapping in the powerful winds and all fixated around the altar. _

_And behind the altar, stood a man._

_He frowned. There was something about this man that fascinated. He began to walk forward, up the hill, which he now realised was artificial, crafted from dirt to rest on the mountain top, for a purpose which he couldn't guess at, and then he began to walk up the stone steps of the great altar. He cast a glance every now and then to his left and right, trying to make out the features of any of those holding the flags. But they remained nothing but the black outlines of people. Shrouded in shadows. _

_He came to the foot of the altar, a sudden, inexplicable desperation seizing him. He had to see this man; he had to know what he looked like. He had to talk to him. His life, his soul, his very memory depended on what this man knew._

_But when he reached him, he only found that this man too, was enveloped in darkness, so much so his outline could only really be guessed at. _

_He sighed, defeated, and looked down upon the altar, hoping that there may be something there that could tell him something._

_Upon the altar lay two items._

A book, open near the end, written in some, incomprehensible language of the Orient.

_And the other was a white feather fan._

_He felt a kind hand rest on top of his, and he looked up._

_The spectre of the man had taken his hand, and was looking him over. He could feel the spectre's non-existent eyes going over every inch of him, its gaze going through his flesh and seeing his very soul. _

_"Who are you?" he asked the spectre. "What's going on?"_

_"Patience," whispered the spectre. "As History knows me. You will know me." The spectre gestured for him to look behind him. He did so, and his jaw dropped._

_There was a river, immensely wide; in the direction the wind was blowing, not too far away from the base of the mountain. _

_There was a battle being fought there, on such a scale that it left him stunned._

_There were ships, hundreds, upon hundreds of ships on the river. Perhaps thousands._

_And at least half of them were aflame._

_-Oh my God.-_

_And still the flames were spreading; the winds that had left him chilled were fanning them, spreading it like a plague along the wooden hulls, devouring and destroying all that it touched. The very stars in the sky could not be seen from the light the fire gave off. It seemed to light up everything, despite the dark hour. He could make out individual ships, from the looks of some of them; they were similar in design to Chinese junks, of all sorts of shapes and sizes, from the rowboat to the utterly immense, multi-hulled grand battleships. _

_Arrows, moving in thick, dark clouds could be seen going through and around the flames, like swarms of locusts, tipped with fire and steel, from each fleet. _

_"Jesus."_

_The flames not only lit up the great river, that he guessed was about a mile and a half wide, although he was pretty bad at judging distances, and the sky, but also the land on each shore. In fact without the flames, he probably wouldn't have seen the encampments. The tens of thousands of simply designed tents for soldiers, the stockades, the watch towers and supply depots, the walkways leading out into the water for loading the fleet that was currently giving battle. The one on this side of the river was vast, and seemed to stretch for miles, taking up most of the coastline and a great deal of the inland as well; and the one on the opposite shore was even greater in scale, perhaps three or even four times the greater. On the one on the opposite shore, men numbering in their tens of thousands were running wildly about, fleeing the ships that had yet to disembark, as the fire spread to them as well. _

_"A turning point in history." Said the spectre, its tone unreadable. "A victory against terrible odds. It is a mark I have made."_

_He said nothing, but continued to stare at the naval battle, as the force that was at least three times larger than the force whose part of the shore he was on, began to flee, as the victors hit land on the other side of the river and struck out from their ships, capturing the massive camp quickly and slaughtering any of the enemy who tried to organise any sort of resistance._

_"I have left many marks on history. Many instances like this. Some well known, some not so well," whispered the spectre into his ear. "You will find many of them." He turned around and looked at the spectre, as it continued talking. "It is all fated you see. We live and die by the will of Heaven." He felt the spectre's gaze bore into him again. "Out of loyalty to my master, I fought on against the very will of the Heavens, after others found their favour. Yet I scored many victories, but in the end, the efforts of myself, unworthy as I am, and many courageous others, were all in vain."_

_It paused for a moment. In that time the sounds of the battle were carried up to them. The echoes of clashing metal, the crashing and splintering of wood…_

_… and the screams of the dieing._

_And then the spectre continued._

_"You will leave a mark on history as well. Your memory will live as long as your race." It paused again, and he felt the eyes he couldn't see bore into him again. "But where I have been remembered with mixed feelings. You will be remembered only with hate."_

_He took a step back, trembling._

_Hated? Why? How?_

_What could he possibly do to have his own kind hate him forever? _

_There was a hissing sound in the air, and he turned to where it had come from._

_The silhouettes were moving now, dropping their flags and producing weapons from their own shadows. Swords, axes, spears, halberds, and knives. One, at the base of the steps, drew a longbow and arrow. The silhouettes began to change shape as they came closer, their hands gaining claws and their backs, wings, while others grew horns or beaks or long flowing hair. _

_He staggered backwards as the silhouettes began to stalk towards him from all sides. His back pressed against the altar, and he looked around desperately for the spectre to help him. But it was gone now. _

_Arms reached over from the other side of the altar and grabbed hold of him by his arms, pulling him back and dragging him onto the altar._

_He screamed at their touch, their hands cold and damp. They grabbed his wrists as they dragged him onto the altar and pinned them above his head. He looked up at those who grabbed him from behind, holding his arms down. He saw where they were holding his arms, and saw blood, dark and gleaming in the light that flowed down from their black bodies._

_He screamed again, and started struggling wildly, the touch of every silhouette sending shivers down his spine, leaving cold blood all over his body. He managed to free his arms and kicked several off as they tried to get on top of him and pin him down, splattering their blood all over his face and abdomen. He managed to sit up and punched another away as it came at him. Several grabbed him from behind but by then he was standing on the altar now, hitting any that came at him with his fists, feet, tail and anything else he could think of, beating their clawing hands back, and suddenly he felt a glimmer of hope._

_He could fight what was coming! He could stop it!_

_There was a whistling sound in the air, and then it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest, and then suddenly he felt all his strength desert him. He looked down and saw the tail end of the arrow protruding from his chest, at his heart. He swayed where he stood, and looked up at where he thought the arrow had come from, as the silhouettes grabbing at him began to take on forms._

_A gargoyle silhouette stood at the very foot of the hill, holding a spent longbow. He knew he'd never seen a silhouette such as this one's, with the fairly short wingspan, the hairless and not quite beaked head, and short, but very well built body._

_But a cold feeling in the very pit of his stomach made him feel that one day, he would know it. And many like it._

_"The Tiger," whispered the wind._

_"The Daemon! The Murderer!" roared the enraged mob of gargoyles, grabbing him again, dragging him back onto his back and holding him down, dozens of hands holding each of his arms and legs, and tail tightly, making struggling impossible._

_He looked into the sky, still lit up by the flames; only at the edge could he see any stars._

_And then it was only one constellation, the one his father often pointed out._

_The Dragon. The one he so often swore by._

_Air escaped his aching lungs. He could feel his strength dwindling till it became an effort just to breathe in again. _

_"The Corruptor!" bayed the mob, now little more than a pack of wild animals._

_A gargoyle leapt onto the altar, its caped wings flapping in the wind that shouldn't be blowing but was, wielding a spiked mace. It stood above him and raised the savage weapon above its head with both hands, aiming for his head._

_He looked up at his executioner, his eyes widening in horror._

_Demona stood above him, her eyes flaming like the fires of Hell. Her face contorted in unspeakable hatred. She threw her head back and bayed into the night, showing her fangs to him. _

_The entire mob howled as one along with her. Filling the air with cries of hate, before Demona brought the mace down in an arc towards his face._

_"THE TRAITOR!"_

There was the sound of cracking masonry and growls of effort, and then Broadway Wyvern awoke in a shower of stone chippings, screaming.

Jezebel Tibbs was standing near the four stone statues, all having to stay sitting, so as not to take up too much space in the fairly cramped interior of the Nightstone Inc. vehicle that had served as their mobile headquarters for the past few weeks.

She had received Demona's rather panicked orders about ten minutes ago now. In that time she had quickly moved the location of their transport to where Demona had designated and was now left with the only the task of waiting.

Waiting…

The gargoyles would crack out of their shells any second now, though time seemed to be passing at a snail's pace at the moment. She paced up and down the small interior of the transport for what must easily have been the twentieth time, her soft footsteps always accompanied by the metallic clink of Brooklyn's old staff that had taken up residence in her right hand.

She stopped and swore under her breath.

This was ludicrous! Fang was hurt and God now only knew how Malibu would be now!

Both of her remaining charges were in danger, and here she was babysitting a group of statues!

She paced up and down the interior again, muttering under her breath at how foolish it had been of Goliath to send detective Maza home.

Injured or not, Maza could have stayed back here and watched these four while she could have gone out with Demona's little party and looked after Mal and Fang.

Jezebel had sworn to look after those two, and Brooklyn as well after her beloved master, Macbeth had died. But she had failed to protect Brooklyn, both from Oberon's vengeance and then later from himself.

She would never admit it freely to anyone but she really did believe that his madness was all her fault. If only she'd done something when he'd first taken out the _Malus Codicium. _If only she'd not been so desperate to hurt Oberon for making Macbeth's death in vain.

If only…if only Demona could have just stayed dead…

She stopped her pacing and opened her eyes, her face becoming dark as her thoughts started to linger on her dead master's ancient enemy.

Demona…

That hellion! She'd destroyed everything her beloved master had strove to create! She'd betrayed him! And her own kind as well!

Her look darkened.

Her kind deserved no mercy…

Along the shaft of the staff she held onto, nearly a dozen runes glowed at once like embers.

She suddenly found her eyes drifting over to those four stone statues. The three gargoyles, Goliath, Lexington and Broadway respectively, were sitting there, wings caped except for the web-winged Lexington, while Bronx was curled up on the floor. They all looked quite apprehensive in their poses today. They also looked terribly vulnerable.

Her right thumb was caressing several of the one hundred and forty four daemonic runes that had been engraved into the two-meter long staff. Her eyes were fixed on the gargoyles, so she didn't notice the faint, ember like glow that emitted from whichever runes she touched, adding to the already glowing runes farther down the shaft.

And those who supported her deserved no mercy either…

She was suddenly; distinctly aware of the shotgun she always kept in her homemade woollen coat.

It was an Ithica Model 37. Riot police, SWAT teams and the like used it. It was quite devastating at very close ranges, even more so than some of the spells that the witch knew.

She had loaded it with solid slugs, preferring them to the indiscriminate buckshot. Like her, they were very discriminate, and very powerful.

She'd seen first hand what one of them could do to stone at very close ranges. It could be quite a spectacular explosion really.

The staff was in her left hand now, because her right was slowly reaching into her coat. She felt her old fingers wrap around the cold, black metal handle of her weapon. It that had served her almost as long as she had served Macbeth.

It would be so easy. So very, very easy to just kill these four. They were stone, they were helpless…

And yet they were dangerous…

Her old, tired eyes drifted over to Broadway. His face had a tired, very troubled look about it that seemed out of place on him. His round nose was barely an inch from the barrel of her now drawn Ithica Model 37.

_Him especially… _

She didn't know how she knew he was dangerous, she just suddenly _knew_.

If only one had to die, it had to be _him_.

As she held her weapon, steady in her aging hand, the pump shot back and forth once, cocking the gun without her even needing to hold it with both hands. It was an especially useful spell in a gunfight. An unnaturally cruel smile spread across her aged lips.

With him out of the way, there'd be safety. With him out of the way, Demona would fail and die and…

She shook her head for a moment and the smile vanished suddenly, and then she looked down at the gun in her hand, now suddenly shaking in fear, never seeing.

What…what had just happened? It had felt almost like someone else had been controlling her actions, like she had been looking at herself from outside as her mind and body began to do things she knew to be wrong.

Her eyes quickly looked up at the stone face of Broadway.

_-My…my God…I…I almost…-_

But she was snapped out of her thoughts by the cracking of stone, as tiny lines began to form along the bodies of the gargoyles and gargdog.

She staggered back as her quickly sheathed her shotgun. In another moment the statues began to make awkward, stiff movements, before the air became filled with stone fragments as each made a sudden, violent thrash that scattered their hard skin all over the interior of their transport as deep, powerful roars of effort came from their fang laced mouths.

But these were cut off when Broadway let out a terrified scream, and fell off the couch as he awoke, covering his face with his hands and screaming again as he lay on his side on the floor.

Goliath and Lexington stared at him fearfully for a moment before they darted over to him to see if he was all right. Bronx was at their heels a second later, while Jezebel looked at them all for a moment, feeling real terror welling up inside of her.

She hadn't really hurt him? Had she?

She quickly came over to the gargoyles. Broadway was sitting up now, panting and looking afraid and confused. He had worn his loincloth until the previous night when Demona had advised both him and Goliath to get into their armoured body gloves, in case they ran into Brooklyn in the city somewhere. As their loincloths were too bulky to actually pull their gloves over, they'd had to take them off. His body glove was black and armoured, while a small equipment belt hung around his big waistline. There was an in-built scabbard on the back that allowed him to carry a black-bladed sword that his father, Hudson, had apparently been giving him lessons with. The straight, double-edged carbon steel blade was twenty eight inches long, with a black, circular hand guard and a twelve inch long, black ribbed wooden handle. Jezebel had never seen the chubby, good-natured gargoyle actually use it, but she'd seen him hold it with a reasonably professionally air on a few occasions since they'd set out. She'd also seen him try and practice fighting with a war hammer, but he'd found that it was too awkward to use and given it up.

Much to her amazement, he had no other weapons than the sword, and a single, twin edged dagger on his belt that she had never seen him even touch. There were actually places on the legs of the hand made body gloves for carrying pistols and ammunition but for a reason he'd never explained to her (and admittedly, she never really thought to ask about), he never touched firearms.

Broadway was sitting up now; Goliath had taken hold of his shoulders and was asking him something. Jezebel could see the fear etched into the huge lavender gargoyle's strong features.

After what, five years wasn't it? They'd probably all become very close. And then there was the fact Broadway was Goliath's son-in-law.

"What happened?" asked Goliath quickly, panicked. "Are you alright?"

Broadway looked at him for a moment as if he'd never seen his leader before, before he snapped out of whatever state he had been in.

"Huh? What?"

"What happened Broadway? Are you alright?"

"Um. I'm fine Goliath." He looked around for a moment, catching the worried looks on Lexington and Bronx's faces. "I'm okay. I…I uh, just had a pretty freaky dream. That's all."

"I'd hate to interrupt," Jezebel found herself saying suddenly, a little disturbed by the unusually cold tone in her own voice. "But there's a problem."

Goliath looked up at her suspiciously. He still had difficulty trusting her, and didn't seem afraid to let her know about it. "What sort of problem?"

"They found Brooklyn."

"Tell me Gregor," said Furcifer, making a gesture. "Is this how you usually spend your free time?"

"Usually," replied the ancient vampire. "When I'm not actually indulging myself of course."

"Of course."

Furcifer and Gregor were seated at a circular steel table out in the front of a coffee bar on a street several blocks from the city centre. There were about half a dozen similar tables such as this spaced around the pavement, several were filled and several more were not. The two sat there, sipping lattes and casually watching the bustle of humanity shift around them on the streets, while the sun set just behind the row of buildings on the other side of the street.

Off to one side of Gregor, a pair of pale skinned men stood. Both were clean-shaven and dressed in black Armani suits with ankle length, heavy black overcoats and dark sunglasses. The one to Gregor's left had almost hawk like features and matte brown hair. The one to Gregor's right had a very prominent forehead while his hair was short and bleached blonde.

They were part of about a dozen of Gregor's lackeys. The rest of his gang and some of his contacts were going through the city, searching for Brooklyn, Riana and Jeremiah.

Gregor and Furcifer had been searching around for a little while before Gregor had gotten bored and decided to have a little sport.

Furcifer didn't complain, as such menial tasks were below him anyway.

And besides, he was curious to see how one such as Gregor hunted nowadays.

Gregor was sitting in a casual slouch, resting his head on a hand, though his storm cloud grey eyes were watching the people that passed by with great intensity.

"I love cities," he stated suddenly. "They grant the two most important things that my kind enjoy."

"And those are?" asked Furcifer.

"Well, the first is anonymity," replied Gregor. He gestured to the crowds passing them by in a constant stream. "Look at their faces. As long as they live I guarantee you that I will probably never lay my eyes on most of them ever again. And even if I do, I won't remember them. They're faces in a crowd. That's how it works. It's like trying to identify individual drops of water in a rain storm." He leaned back in his designer chair. "And as it works for them it works for me."

"Well that's one reason," agreed Furcifer. "What's the other one?"

Gregor didn't reply for a moment, as his eyes had discovered a plump, little boy of perhaps eleven, still in his school uniform and walking along their side of the street. Backpack slouched over one shoulder, a hand in that of what could only be his mother.

They walked by, taking no notice of Gregor, whose hands were shaking as his eyes stalked their progress until they took a corner and vanished out of sight.

"Diversity," he said eventually. "Yes. Definitely diversity. Such a great pallet to choose from."

Furcifer had noticed his companion's reaction to the mother and son and had also watched them until they had vanished again into the masses.

"So, how long have you been nailing kids Gregor?"

"Centuries," replied Gregor immediately. "You'd be amazed just how much you can get out of it."

"You mean there's more than just a cheap orgasm?" asked Furcifer, a little curious.

"The sex means nothing to me these days," replied the vampire. "I'm a sadist Furcifer. I do what I do to children because to hurt them is to hurt all those who love them. I always target families and I always target the youngest. The one who's loved the most, especially if there's only one parent. I try to do as much damage to families as I can through one single, loved target. That boy you saw the gauntlets devour. He was the only child of a mother who works as a waitress four blocks from where were are sitting right now. I do a lot of watching Furcifer, to find good targets." He adjusted his position in his chair, his face showing the smallest thread of annoyance. "She'll drive herself half mad because she'll believe that her beloved son ran away, for whatever reason she may concoct. And don't take this the wrong way Furcifer, but partly thanks to you, that's as far as it will go."

"I don't understand." Replied Furcifer.

"I wanted to drive her to suicide," stated Gregor. "I was actually planning to tear a bit of his decaying flesh off and send it to his mother along with pictures of him being raped by some of my boys with the features blurred. Unfortunately your little arrival caught me off guard, and I missed that opportunity."

"Well allow me to apologise Gregor. But won't the pictures be enough?"

Gregor shrugged. "They do have an effect, but it just sort of lacks a punch if you don't send a pound of flesh along with them. I've driven almost a dozen parents to suicide this year alone by doing that."

"Well it's good to see that you're keeping yourself busy," said Furcifer. "But aren't you ever worried about the police?"

"The militia?" replied Gregor, a dirty smile crossing his face. "My good friend, you know nothing of this town. They're nothing but a corrupt gang of thugs. All I, like many others around here, have to do to keep them off my back is to give them a thick wad of notes every now and then and I can kill as many kids and deal as many drugs as I want. Fuck me, I've even _hired_ some of them on occasion to do some of my dirty work!"

Furcifer grinned at this. "You mean to tell me that you don't enjoy doing your own dirty work anymore?"

"Well that's not totally true," confessed Gregor. "I do like the interrogations and torture sessions. But the whole gang fighting is very below me. It's for subordinates really. I will only get really involved in the fighting if I deem the prize as being worth the effort."

"Ah. I understand. Not quite my own philosophy, but I can see where you're coming from," said Furcifer slowly.

The wail of sirens suddenly hit the group, as two cars and a large, heavily armoured van, all painted the white of the city militia, came screeching around a corner on the other side of the street. They raced past along the road in the direction of the city centre, the flashing of red and blue lighting up the street as the crowds paused in their motion, and watched them until they rounded another corner, before going back to their lives without another thought.

Furcifer was on his feet in an instant, his dark eyes tracking the militia as they rounded the corner and beyond. "Let's go!"

He looked over at Zaitsev after it became apparent that the vampire wasn't following orders. "Well? Come on!"

"Why?" asked Zaitsev lazily. He shifted in his chair and smiled as Furcifer glared at him, holding up a hand casually. "I know what you're thinking my old friend. It could be this Brooklyn fella, but I highly doubt it. This is St. Petersburg. The militia are always racing all over the place. It's probably just a gang shoot out, or maybe a few Chechens or other separatists causing trouble. It's nothing I assure you."

"Well despite your certainty," said Furcifer, slowly. "I want us to go and check it out."

Zaitsev sighed in a very irritated manner and rose quickly. "Fine! Fine!" He looked over at his two cronies. "Xander! Call Tanya! Tell her to bring the car round!"

The bleached blonde nodded quickly and took out his black cell phone as Zaitsev looked over at Furcifer again. He looked angry, but Furcifer didn't really care.

"I dislike goose chases," he growled, in his low, pit bull voice. "So I hope you're right."

"And if I'm not?" asked Furcifer disinterestedly, his arms crossed over his thin torso.

"Then you're walking back."

The militia helicopter spun wildly in the air, its marksman hanging out of the side, his SVD lost as his arms flailed wildly about while the safety line at his waist tugged his armoured form so much that he felt he was going to throw up.

A thick, dark brown stream of smoke was billowing out of its tail. The rear rotor had been wrecked and now the pilot was fighting desperately to keep the helicopter level. After another few moments he succeeded and pulled the chopper away from the mall's roof, trying to get as far away from that monster that had leapt up from the surface, tore up his rotor like it was paper, and nearly killed his sniper while stealing his weapon.

But bizarrely, that wasn't the thing that scared him the most.

It was that creature's howl. It made his bones shake just to think about it. The high and piercing cry of some daemon of Hell. He caught a glimpse of it as he fled the scene, flying back towards the rooftop with those giant, bat like wings and mass of fire red hair. He also noticed it was clutching the SVD sniper rifle that had fallen out of his marksman's hands, and he felt himself growing confused.

What kind of daemons used guns?

Demona landed again on the roof, clutching the SVD tightly in her right hand as the militia chopper made an attempt to escape. She paused and looked over her shoulder as it bobbed up and down in the air, making its way to the next large rooftop to try a landing.

From the looks of it the pilot was a good one, so she wouldn't have to worry about the crew of the chopper getting hurt.

She quickly rounded an ornamental glass dome and rushed over to the entrance to the stairwell that Malibu and Faith were hiding with Fang.

"Are you crazy!" yelled Mal, rising from where he was kneeling beside the unconscious mutate. His eyes were flaring. "You could have fucking killed them!"

"Well I didn't!" retorted Demona, her own eyes still blazing. This little bastard was starting to get on her nerves. "So shut up!" She looked over at Faith, only to find that she looked angry as well. "Inquisitor Thompson! Malibu will carry you as we glide to where Jezebel has parked. I'll carry Fang!"

"That's okay!" yelled Mal suddenly, still angry. "I'll carry Fang. I'm stronger than I look remember?"

"Alright. But we must move quickly!" yelled Demona. "We need to link up with the rest of the clan and decide on our next course of action. We've no idea where Brooklyn and his lackeys could have disappeared to."

"Stupid fucking bastard!" growled Rincewald.

He and Riana were carrying Brooklyn between them, constantly stepping on his limp tail and tripping on his wings as they ran down the rows of cars, vans and motorcycles in the well lit, drab grey underground parking lot of the mall.

"Where's the car?!" he started yelling, his head looking desperately from side to side. "Where's the fucking the car?!"

"Calm down Jerry!" yelled Riana right back. "Let's find a sign and see if this is even the right level."

"What's that supposed to mean?" growled Rincewald suddenly. "Do you really think I can't even get us to the right car parking level?"

"Can we talk about this later?" replied Riana, turning to bring her full persona to bear down on the necromancer. "I don't want to be shot up today."

"Then we shouldn't take our car," said Rincewald suddenly. He looked around, letting his grip on Brooklyn's arms sag a little. "In fact, I doubt any of these would be much use, not with those militia ruffians running around. They'd shoot us up before we got very far."

"Then couldn't you transport us out of here!" yelled Riana.

"Easy for you to say you damned whore!" growled Rincewald. "Do you have the slightest idea how much something like that takes out of you?"

"I'd have thought you'd have had enough strength to jump us to the moon, seeing how you never seemed to think about giving me a hand in fighting those retards you fucking jackass!"

"You degenerate bitch!" roared Rincewald, suddenly stopping and letting go of Brooklyn. The crimson gargoyle quickly slid out of his hands and crumpled onto the floor, his daemonstaff that had been resting under his crossed arms bounced and clattered along the concrete. Riana had stopped as well, and had slowly put Brooklyn's legs down, remaining silent throughout the whole procedure, before looking up at the enraged necromancer.

And despite the need for haste, the two of them just stood where they were, in venomous silence, glaring at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"You want to know why I didn't do anything?" asked Rincewald, his voice low, his sky blue eyes fixed on Riana's light green. "Would you care to know old friend?" He stepped over towards his fellow guardian, his staff suddenly in hand. "I didn't do anything because I'm starting to have doubts."

"About what?" said Riana flatly.

Rincewald advanced a little further, until he could smell the slight traces of vodka on Riana's breath.

"I think you know," whispered Rincewald.

Almost simultaneously they both dipped their heads and looked down upon the unconscious gargoyle between them.

"So you don't think he's the one we're looking for?" asked Riana, knowing it to be a pointless question, but also knowing Rincewald well enough to know that he wouldn't go on without the prompting.

"No," replied Rincewald immediately. "You saw what happened when he took on that, that creature with the knives didn't you? Until he started using magic he was getting his ass handed to him."

"So what? All that tells you is that guy was a much better fighter than him."

"Let's also not forget that that Harrison fellow did pretty much the same thing to him." Said Rincewald slowly. He cast his eyes down on Brooklyn again, in deep thought.

"Then please explain to me Jerry," started Riana impatiently. "Just how the Hell was he able to take the staff? And the Conscience?"

"I don't know," replied the necromancer. "I'd say his immortality, but that's not all of it. There…there is something amiss here." He rubbed the heavy stubble on his chin. "I don't exactly know what's going on here Riana, but-"

"But what?" Riana found herself screaming suddenly. This was insane! The militia were probably going to start sweeping the underground car parks any minute. "But what Jerry?!"

Rincewald continued to look the young gargoyle over for another moment, his face grave. There was the sound of footsteps echoing off the ground somewhere nearby, though Riana couldn't see where exactly they were coming from. Riana suddenly felt rage heat up inside of her. She'd lost her beloved Kukri and whip, thanks to that hateful bitch and that annoying little bastard that was apparently Brooklyn's clone.

They'd get what was coming to them, she'd see to that personally.

She smiled darkly as she pictured ways of torturing them for getting in her way, and she briefly hoped that they had families.

She could do so much more damage if they had families…

"Riana?"

She snapped out of her revere immediately. Knowing Rincewald he'd probably ended up just saying "Nothing" after all that.

"What Jerry?"

"I said we should get going. I think we might be able to jump an ambulance crew if we can make it to one of the exits."

"But what about Brooklyn?"

"I suppose I might be able to conceal us from view for a few moments. Should be enough time to get to an ambulance or something unnoticed."

"Perfect," said Riana, her voice cheerful suddenly. She bent over and grabbed Brooklyn's legs. "Lets get moving."

Jezebel Tibbs sat on one of the two long couches built into the interior of the huge transport they'd been using, her Ithica shotgun sat by her side on the couch, and her discarded woollen coat lay on the other side of her. She was staring at the small space of carpet that took up residence between her pair of sensible black shoes.

The staff was lying across her lap. One of her hands was resting on it, gently rubbing some of the runes with her fingers. Her other hand was fingering the beads of her rosary, which was wrapped tightly around her hand. Her breathing was quick, panicked.

She nearly killed them. She _would_ have killed them, but for lack of time.

But why? _Why?_

She liked Broadway and Lexington. It was hard really not to like them. They were both very good people when you got down to it. Broadway did seem a little suspicious of her though, but considering their past she couldn't really blame him for that.

Why would she want to kill them? Why would she even feel she had to?

Her fingers traced over the beads and the cold metal runes together. She looked up into the darkened glass above the seats, into the sorrowful eyes of an old, tired woman.

Her eyes shut as a single, scorching tear ran down her cheek.

What was happening to her?

"Why did you leave me?" she whispered to the air, her voice hoarse, on the verge of tears. "Why did I let you leave me?"

There was a protracted whine one might associate with a very large dog, and she opened her eyes and smiled down at Bronx. The gargdog was sitting in front of her; with one of those sad puppy dog looks on his face that Lexington had said he had turned into an art form. As Jezebel looked back, Bronx came forward a bit and sat his head on her lap. Jezebel couldn't help but smile as she patted the huge beast on the head and scratched behind his ears, much to Bronx's enjoyment.

"You are a weird dog, you know that?"

Bronx made a friendly growl in response.

The clan were only going to meet up with Demona and the others and guide them back to the transport, where they could decide on their next course of action, so there was no actual need to carry Bronx around.

She had gotten all the medical supplies they had ready upstairs to take care of Fang, Faith's and Mal's injuries, and now there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that the sick feeling of dread that was welling up from within would dissipate.

As she sat there, patting Bronx's head with her hand holding the rosary, and fingering the runes on her staff, her thoughts eventually drifted back to Macbeth, the man she had loved so dearly and had now lost. She couldn't stop herself. Whenever she wasn't busying herself, she almost involuntarily started looking back at their history together. She wished very much that she had gone now with him, joining him in the afterlife, or that instead of actually killing Demona, they had just taken her alive and kept her hidden away somewhere forever.

She stopped patting Bronx, not hearing his concerned whine as she stared out into space again. Why couldn't she have had him?

She would give anything to have him!

Anything…

_"Let me in Jezebel."_

She stood up at once, brandishing her Ithica and her staff, her old eyes looking around suspiciously as Bronx backed off and stared at the door near the front, his eyes aflame as he growled dangerously.

"Who…who's there? Speak!"

_"Don't fear me Jezebel."_

Jezebel frowned. The voice, it was soft, kind, inviting…

_"I feel your pain Jezebel,"_ it whispered. _"I feel your loss. I wish to make things better."_

"How can you possibly know me?" she half stammered.

There was something so wonderful, so…enticing…so…

_"Do not fear me. Do not hate me. Do not resist me."_ It whispered from somewhere, everywhere. _"Surrender yourself to me, and I shall give you that which you most desire."_

"N…n-no!" she said, panicked, looking around wildly. "I…I don't want anything! I'm happy! Now tell me who you are?"

_"What do you wish me to be?"_

"That is not an answer," she growled, recovering herself. "Tell me at once who you are. What do you want with me?"

_"Your service. Your loyalty. Your love."_

Bronx was barking now, he had edged up to the door; his eyes now like novas as whatever it was he felt threatened by had now moved up to the side of the transport.

_"I shall give you everything that your heart has ever desired. I shall give you the man, which you have desired. I shall give you a second chance to love him."_

"And what must I do to earn such a reward?"

_"Destroy them Jezebel. Destroy the infidels that dare to oppose us. Their lives in exchange for that of Macbeth."_

The door at the front of the transport slid open without a sound. Bronx started backing off to the winding set of steps at the rear that led to the upper level, the menace in his growl now replaced with a whine of terror.

_"Sacrifice their lives to me Jezebel. Honour and worship me, and all that you have ever desired will be yours."_

A figure of a man came up the steps. Jezebel had found herself involuntarily backing away to where Bronx had stopped as he came up the steps behind the seats at the front and turned to face her.

He was young, in his early twenties, clad in long black clothes and had a small beard on his chin with an inter-connecting moustache, and his eyes were such a dark shade of green that she almost thought that they were black. He was very, very handsome.

No, Jezebel found herself thinking. Not handsome.

Beautiful…

_"Surrender yourself to me Jezebel,"_ said the man, spreading his arms out non-threateningly, as he took a step forward. _"Destroy those unworthy of life, so that the man whom you loved can be returned to you."_

Jezebel was crying but she didn't care. Her weapons hung loosely in her arms, while Bronx, now pretty much cornered, was growling again, making the sound of any animal that knew it was about to face death.

There was a strange smell in the air. Of strong, but not wholly unpleasant spices, whose significance was lost on her at that moment. And there was something else underneath it, something she knew very well, but what it was exactly she could place then and there.

But there was something different about it. Something…important.

_"Worship me Jezebel."_

"What is your name?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from sobs she would never let out. "Who are you?!"

The man smiled, showing pearly white teeth as he took another step forward.

_"It doesn't matter. It will never matter. Just know that I can offer you anything you want."_ He took another, confident step forward. _"Forget your charges. They are unworthy of the attention of the likes of you anyway. They work along with Demona now remember? Do any that sympathise with her deserve mercy? Do any that aid the monster that gave your master such torment deserve anything other than death?"_

"You're wrong."

The man stopped, surprised. _"What?"_

"I said 'you are wrong" stated Jezebel sharply. Her tears were gone, her hands were shaking and pale from how tightly she clutched her staff and shotgun. "They do deserve life. They don't deserve anything you're suggesting. None of them do."

_"But…listen…"_

"No! You listen to me!" she yelled, as amber flame filled eyes. "I know what you are! And I know that all you offer are empty promises and lies! If you know what's good for you you'll stay the bloody Hell away from me! You understand?"

The man's kind smile was replaced by a mask of indescribably fury. "You stupid, hateful old bat!" he screamed. "You dare reject the offers of mine and my master? If you will not take up my offer then you take death instead!"

The whites of his eyes becoming black as night, and screaming in the daemon's tongue, the thin, beautiful man, leapt at her.

The buildings in the streets that the transport had parked in were made up mostly of flat-topped structures. It was situated near the middle of a street, under the harsh white glare of the street lamps, which reflected off the shimmering silver and blacks of its hull.

The clan landed on the top of an old, two-storey house on the opposite side of the street where the transport waited.

It had taken them all nearly half an hour to get to this point, even though both groups had met up after only several minutes.

It had been necessary to take a longer route around, while constantly diving into the shadows to avoid the now frenzied militia, who were now treating the incident in the mall as the attack of Chechen rebels. They had already cordoned off several square blocks, and were patrolling several other blocks beyond, looking for anything suspicious.

So far they had avoided detection. They had not survived the street of New York for so long being careless.

Goliath had come down first; he was carrying Fang now. It looked like Malibu was having a tough time carrying the huge mutate and so he'd taken him off him, much to the clone's appreciation. Broadway landed next, with Malibu, Lexington and then finally Demona, still carrying Inquisitor Thompson, following.

Goliath signalled for them to duck low with his free hand, as he looked the street over from his vantage point. The street was quiet, with the only audible sound in he air being the wail of sirens coming from somewhere.

He looked down and over at the transport, and for the briefest second, he thought the side door was ajar a bit, but then it looked closed. He suddenly found himself looking up and down the quiet streets quickly, getting an uneasy feeling in his stomach. There was something very wrong here. This whole scene seemed a little unnatural somehow.

"Weird."

He looked over his shoulder and found Broadway was right up next to him now. His son-in-law was looking at the street very suspiciously too.

"What do you think is 'weird?" Goliath asked, smiling a little. Though he would never admit it to anyone, not even Elisa, he was secretly delighted that Angela had picked Broadway as her mate. True, he wasn't the smartest of people, nor was he ever likely to be a great leader. But he was a very good person; trustworthy, honest, and loyal. He doubted there was any scrap of badness in his entire being.

He and Angela would be together as long as they both lived.

Broadway looked up at him as if he was stupid. "There's no people."

The smile vanished instantly.

Of course! That what was so strange abut this scene! Every single street up to this point, they had had to duck along rooftops and stay in the shadows to escape being seen by the citizenry.

But here there was no one. That was why he had that uneasy feeling. And it took Broadway to tell him something he should have spotted immediately!

Goliath growled under his breath before looking back at Broadway, to find that he was leaning over the wall slightly, his black bladed sword unsheathed and in his right hand. The blade had been a gift from Hudson to celebrate Broadway and Angela's first successful mating, and Broadway had been determined to learn how to use it properly, the hours of practice showing on his arms, and on his slightly diminished belly.

"What the Hell's taking so long?" hissed Malibu, impatiently from behind. "We should get down there quickly! Fang needs to get treated!"

Almost as if to prove a point, the cougar mutate in Goliath's arms emitted a very pained groan, as his head rested against his armoured shoulder.

"In a moment," replied Goliath patiently, understanding the clone's concerns for his friend. "There is something not right here and-"

A shot rang out, cutting him off. Another and then a third and then a fourth followed it.

Goliath looked down at the transport. The gunfire was coming from inside.

"Oh God!" he heard Malibu yell, standing and spreading his wings quickly. "Jezebel!"

He tired to run up to the edge, but Broadway was up in a second, dropping his sword and grabbing hold of him. "Hold on a sec Mal! We don't know what's happening in there! We can't go-"

Malibu never found out what Broadway was going to say next.

The transport exploded the next instant. It tore up the surrounding street, smashing every window within several blocks, atomising the nearest street lamp as the shock wave knocked the whole clan, still up on the building's roof, right off their feet. The explosion lit up everything while all lights in the entire street went out and didn't come back on. Shrapnel scattered everywhere and buried itself into the surrounding structures. One wheel actually flew through the sitting room window of a house. The sound was deafening, even more so for the gargoyles' sensitive ears, leaving them all shell shocked into inaction for several long seconds after it was all over.

Malibu was first to rise. He swayed uneasily like a reed in the breeze before he staggered over to the wall and looked down at the flaming wreckage that remained of their transportation. But it was the last thing on his mind.

"Jezebel?"

He looked desperately around the street, now lit up totally by the flames of the Nightstone armoured transport. _Jezebel would be all right_ he thought, desperately._ She would have gotten out she was a witch there was no way she'd be dead no way someone like her would be killed so easily that was just ridiculous she's a witch she's alive she'll be fine she's alive alive alive!_

He was on the top of the wall, his wings spread out and ready to jump, oblivious of the scorching hot tears running down his cheeks and the yelling behind him.

"JEZEBEL!"

He leapt. Goliath had gotten up next and had been trying to get to Malibu before he had jumped, but his head was still ringing and he couldn't walk properly. In desperation he actually jumped forward to try and grab the young gargoyle before he made a very big mistake but Malibu was just a fraction of a second faster. Goliath's clawed hands touched the tip of his tail but only wrapped around air.

"Damn it!" growled the lavender giant, hitting the ground for the second time. "Malibu! Wait!"

But it was no good. The clone was off the wall and out of sight.

He could see Broadway out of the corner of his eye, rising and yelling desperately at Mal to come back too. He had picked his sword up and was running to the edge of the roof. Demona was coming up behind him, the rifle she had taken from the militia helicopter in her taloned hands. Lexington was helping Inquisitor Thompson stand. The human female was hunched over a little and breathing harshly. Apparently she had some sort of chest wound that would most likely need seeing to as well.

Goliath looked Fang over. The cougar mutate was lying just in front of him, his badly burned belly and chest rising, barely.

He made to stand up again when he heard Broadway scream.

Looking up, he just saw his son-in-law thrown back into from the edge of the roof, dropping his sword and being twisted in the air from whatever had hit him with tremendous force.

Broadway landed on his side, several meters from Goliath, his back facing him. Yelling his name, Goliath rose and scrambled desperately over to his fallen clansmen. Lexington was yelling something. He could hear gunshots now down on the street, accompanied by Demona's terrifying war cry, raised voices and echo of metal hitting metal over the roar of the flames.

He pulled Broadway onto his back, praying desperately to what ever governed the way of things that he would be all right.

Broadway was still alive. There was the tail end of a black crossbow bolt sticking out of his right shoulder. It had gone through the armour of his bodyglove like it hadn't been there at all. He had passed out; his entire body was shivering madly and he was deathly pale.

His chest was barely rising.

Goliath felt an unfamiliar sense of fear well up within him, as he looked his fallen clansman over.

A crossbow bolt, even one shot from a very powerful crossbow couldn't do this alone so quickly. That is, unless it had been…

"Poisoned…" he whispered, his voice trailing off as the gravity of what was now happening to his clan hit him like a kick in the gut.

"Oh God."

Goliath looked over and saw Lexington crouched barely a meter away. The little web-wing looked terrified as he stared at his brother's trembling body.

From down in the street, someone screamed.

Goliath had a sick feeling he knew who it was.

Lexington suddenly scrambled backwards, his eyes wide in amazement.

"What the Hell?"

The lavender gargoyle looked around in time to see a man, _a human male_, finish his ascent onto the rooftop of the two-storey building they were crouching on. He had leapt over the wall and grinned at the two staring gargoyles. He was clad in a black stormcoat over a black suit while his skin was pale and his face was as hard as a knife. He had black sunglasses on and was holding a twin headed battle-axe in his right hand while his left pulled a horrifyingly large chrome revolver, a Ruger Redhawk hunting pistol, from his coat pocket. He smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth and a pair of large, deep fangs residing within his elastic like mouth.

"Hello there."

He took a step forward and Faith shot him between the eyes, destroying the sunglasses, making him drop his weapons and fall right back over the wall.

"Grab his weapons!" ordered the female inquisitor frantically, coming forward, her Glock ready.

Lexington ran over to the fallen weapons and tossed Goliath the battle-axe while he kept the revolver. The olive green gargoyle looked down onto the street.

In the light of the flames, he could see Malibu; his two metal tonfa in hand, fighting with a large brute of man in a long coat. He was holding a huge black crossbow in his left hand while attacking the pale green gargoyle with a swept-hilt rapier with his right, the blade little more than a flashing blur in the light of the fire as it lashed out against the titanium shafts protecting the clone's forearms, creating sparks.

Demona was maybe a dozen yards away from him, holding the sniper rifle by the barrel in a two-handed grip like a club. Four figures, all dressed similarly to the man Faith had just shot were standing around her, each armed.

Three more were lying on the damp ground around her.

He heard a hissing sound and looked down the ruined wall of the building and gasped. Three more people like the man Faith had just shot were scaling the walls with their bare hands. Two women and one man. Each was giving that sick grin with the fangs through their elastic mouths while the fire of the dead transport played along their sunglasses.

One of the women, who had fiery red hair in a long ponytail swinging behind her as she climbed, pulled around the BXP sub-machine gun that was hanging from a strap around her overcoat and started firing at him while her two companions climbed on. Lexington swore as he ducked back while half a dozen rounds either whizzed past his head or smashed into the wall he had been leaning on, detonating small parts of the masonry.

"More coming!" he yelled, getting on his feet as he held the huge pistol awkwardly in his right hand. It was unbelievably heavy, and for not the first time in his life he cursed his small stature and his weakness when compared to everyone else in the clan. He thought about throwing the monstrous thing to Goliath but remembered that from the very few times he had seen his leader employ a firearm, he had proved to be a terrible shot.

_-But at least he won't get knocked off his feet if he pulls the trigger, -_ he thought, bitterly. He cast a glance over at his leader. Goliath had dragged Broadway back a little from where the fighting was probably going to be. He had also taken up Broadway's sword, as well as the axe he had taken from the man Faith had shot and was now standing protectively in front of his son-in-law. Fang was still lying off several yards to the other side of them but he was in the shadows of the building that stood several floors taller than the one they were on. If he didn't move or groan then he may not be noticed.

Much to his own surprise, Lexington found himself hoping Fang wasn't too badly hurt. The cougar mutate didn't seem nearly as bad as he remembered him when he had led the coup against Talon or when they had fought him, Brooklyn and Malibu to try and save Demona from Macbeth. All that seemed like years ago now. Maybe Mal's friendship really had changed him for the better.

He heard a roar from somewhere down below on the road and the sound of bones being smashed by something hard and unforgiving.

Demona was still in the fight at least.

The three humans leapt up onto the roof nearly simultaneously, fangs and weapons bared. The woman with long red hair had tossed her BXP back and had produced a nasty looking shortsword with a heavily serrated eighteen-inch blade.

The other woman had especially pale skin and black make up to go along with the black streak in her long, platinum blonde hair. She had no firearms of any sort, but instead she carried a rapier like the one wielded by the man Lexington had seen Mal fight with along with a dagger with a short handle and a thin, ten-inch long thrusting blade.

The man had a very prominent forehead with short, bleached blonde hair and held a black bladed battle-axe similar to the one Goliath was holding in both hands.

"Remember," growled Xander, eyeing the armoured lavender giant that stood in the middle of the trio as he adjusted the grip of his leather gloved hands on the shaft of the axe. "He wants them alive."

That said, the vampires attacked.

Lexington aimed at the woman with red hair, taking the Ruger in both hands and fired. Much to his own surprise, the tremendous force of the recoil as the .44 magnum round erupted out of the barrel didn't knock him off his feet; instead he felt a rather surprising and unpleasant sting in his wrists for an instant.

But even more surprising to the small web-wing, his shot actually hit home.

The heavy magnum round hit the red head in the chest, shattering her sternum and send her crashing back against the wall she had only just leapt over, her short sword and BXP clattering to the ground as she was toppled soundlessly.

The two other vampires rushed on, sweeping past Lexington as he dropped the gun and let out a very long and colourful string of curses from the pain in both of his wrists. He'd seen female humans fire these things and they never seemed to have any problems. Why did he have to be so damn weak?!

Xander went straight for Faith. The female inquisitor fired two shots at him with her pistol but the vampire skilfully evaded both, and closing the short distance between them in a second, he lashed out at her with his foot and roughly kicked the gun out of her hand. Faith staggered back, swearing and pulled one of Peter's huge knives out of her pocket and slashed at Xander, who pulled back before the glittering blade could touch him.

They circled for a moment. Faith pulled Peter's other knife out of now hole filled pockets and held them before her as Xander brandished his axe menacingly. For a moment, her vision blurred a little as she tried to force her aching lungs to work properly again and stop making this difficult for her. She suddenly felt very tired but fought it off, willing herself to focus only on what was happening _now_. In her state, to do otherwise would be to die.

The woman with the platinum blonde hair and the long black streak thrust her rapier at Goliath, aiming for his chest. The lavender giant parried the attack with Broadway's sword and then, roaring with all his might, he lashed out at her with his axe in a furious downward arc. His opponent blocked it with her thrusting dagger and for a brief second they glared at each other before the woman leapt back and then came at him again with startling speed, and attacking with her rapier again. She quickly knocked Goliath's axe back with her blade and delivered a lightning fast snap-kick to his huge chest, knocking the wind out of him momentarily and forcing him back as she tried to stab him in the knee with her dagger as a follow up.

She smiled wickedly at him, exposing her pearl white fangs as she came at him before he had a chance to recover properly, thrusting out with her rapier again while holding her dagger out just behind her sword hand, ready to parry any counter attacks.

Goliath ducked low, the thin blade missing his face by centimetres before he made a low swipe at his opponent's legs with his axe. The woman tried to leap back, but the axe caught her across the calf of her right leg, the heavy blade cleaving through cloth, muscle and flesh like it was paper. The woman screamed and began staggering back, putting her weight on her left leg and making several figure eights in front of her to keep Goliath at bay, while letting loose the longest, crudest and yet most imaginative line of profanities Goliath had ever, ever heard.

He caught a glimpse of Lexington out of the corner of his eye. The small web-wing had grabbed the other woman's shortsword and submachine gun and was scrambling over to where Inquisitor Thompson was fighting with the other black clad goon. He thought he could see another huge handgun stuffed into the belt of his bodyglove.

The platinum blonde suddenly attacked again, apparently now oblivious to the bleeding gash across her right leg. She came forward, performing a complex series of slashes, spins and thrusts, switching from the dagger to rapier and back again as the instrument of attack while keeping the other ready to parry counters.

Goliath was never especially skilled at fencing, nor was he proficient in the use of any hand-to-hand weapons. It was not that he had never had an interest in them, it was instead that he was aware he didn't have the "knack" as some would call it for using swords or axes or pole-arms. He was aware of this weakness, and though it displeased him, he accepted it and instead concentrated on using his strength and wit to win combat whenever possible. As such, compared to his opponent, his own moves seemed to be exceedingly lacking in grace, but he was still able deflect the majority of them, though it didn't stop his opponent, whose name was Katrina, from making a small cut along his chin and another across the back of his left hand, hoping to get him to drop his sword but underestimating the lavender giant's resilience.

But Goliath was now falling back, sparks rising from his weapons as Katrina came in again and again with her blades. He briefly found himself wondering in a second's reprieve if the armoured bodyglove he was wearing could protect him from such a fine, sharp blade as Katrina's.

Katrina made a stab at Goliath, aiming for his belly with her sword, but Goliath managed to parry with his own blade, before lashing out at her with a furious down ward arc with his axe. Katrina skilfully sidestepped it though, and made a stab at his forearm with her thrusting dagger. The thin blade skewered Goliath's arm, penetrating both armour and flesh and going straight through, several inches below the clan leader's right wrist.

Goliath screamed in agony and staggered back, dropping his axe and swinging the sword wildly in front of him to keep Katrina back. The dagger was still lodged in his forearm and blood was jetting out both holes while nearly all feeling in his right hand seemed to have vanished.

Katrina was laughing, he heard Lexington yell something over the clash of metal while Inquisitor Thompson was swearing harshly.

Down on the road, he heard gunshots.

He leapt back as Katrina swung at him again, keeping his sword pointed out in front of him as he risked a quick glance behind himself. Broadway was lying on his back just a couple of yards behind him. He was still trembling; though his skin was now a deathly pale and his breathing had become so shallow his chest was barely rising at all.

Goliath suddenly found himself shaking as well, not in pain but in rage. He'd promised Angela he would make sure nothing happened to her mate, he'd keep him safe so he could come back and be with her when she laid their first egg, the first of the next generation.

He'd lost so many of his clan, so many of his family.

May The Dragon damn him if he lost Broadway as well!

Katrina hissed as she came in again cutting down again with her rapier, baring her fangs in a triumphant smile. Goliath turned his head around to face her again as she leapt towards him, only an instant away.

But it was time enough.

Goliath dropped his sword in that instant, and brought his right arm up, while pulling his left arm back, while the glittering blade seemed to loom over him.

As this record states before, Goliath had little skill with weapons, but this was more than made up for by his skill at unarmed combat.

As Katrina's blade arced downwards, Goliath shot up his right arm, catching the blade in his currently numb palm, earning himself yet another bleeding cut. But the rapier's blade would only really cut flesh and cloth, not bone.

As the momentum of Katrina's attack died instantly, Goliath launched one of his own. One that he correctly guessed his opponent wasn't quite ready for.

As Katrina was carried forward by her attack, beginning to bend down at the waist, Goliath shot his left hand up to meet her oncoming head. He kept his palm open with his clawed fingers tightly held in place as Xanatos had taught him, putting all the force of his punch into the base of his hand, which connected with Katrina's nose with the force of a small battering ram.

Katrina's nose caved in, the shards of bone then being carried back up through her skull and piercing her brain. She was thrown backwards into the air. She dropped her sword as she threw her arms back before hitting the ground in a silent, dead heap.

Goliath stood over her for a moment, taking quick, deep breaths, suddenly aware of how tired he was feeling. He shook his head to clear it before taking a look at his injured arm. The bleeding on his forearm wasn't quite as bad now, but the pain was getting sharper as his sudden adrenaline rush began to fade. The gash on the palm of his right hand was bone deep; his entire hand was dark now with his own blood.

Bad, but a day or two's stone hibernation would fix it all.

He could still hear a bit of a scuffle going on and heard inquisitor Thompson laugh very nastily as he heard an unfamiliar male voice yell something very long and very loud in what he guessed was Russian.

But he could hear nothing of what was going on down in the street. He was getting that sick feeling again. Were Demona and Malibu alright? Had they gotten away? Had they been taken?

Too many damn questions…

He grabbed the handle of Katrina's dagger. Before he did anything to be of use, he'd have to get this out first.

He suddenly found himself unintentionally remembering a time back before the massacre, when he had still been but a young, impulsive adolescent, full of himself, cocky, loud, often piss drunk from all the ale and mead he snuck out of the storerooms with his rookery brothers. The lot of them, all boasting at how ready they were for action, like they could take on every damn Viking in the world, if any ever dared show up.

And on the very first occasion that they did in his lifetime, he got shot.

And it had been almost exactly where the dagger was now lodged, except it had been in his left arm that time. He didn't remember the pain then either, just an overwhelming feeling of terror as he saw the arrow stuck halfway through his forearm. It had been a good thing the fighting was on the cliffs. He'd fallen in the water in a blind, screaming panic, and so nobody had noticed he'd wet himself.

But Hudson had dragged him out after the fighting, despite the fact he was still shaking in terror, screaming too, that he didn't want to die.

Truth be told he had also been terrified of Hudson, of _The Leader_. He was sure when he had seen him, that formidable, aloof figure descending on him to pull him off the rocks he had clung to desperately while the sea battered him from behind, that he was about to be killed, maybe even given a punishment worse than death, for showing such cowardice, for dropping the claymore and spear he had taken from the castle armoury, while all the while boasting of how he wouldn't really need them, of how he was going to kill all the Vikings with his bare claws and fangs, of how he would only have to show up, roar a bit, and they'd flee, never even daring to set foot from their longboats until they went all the way back up North.

He'd almost been tempted to just let go of the rocks and drown, rather than face The Leader's wrath.

But The Leader grabbed his good arm, wrenching him out of the water, as a bird of prey would do to a small fish. And when they'd landed, he didn't yell, he didn't strike him, he didn't punish. Instead he chuckled and patted him on the shoulder and said that he'd done a great deal better than he ever did in his first battle. Goliath had supposed at the time it had been a lie, just to make him feel better, but he'd appreciated it, and it had made him stop shaking. It was only several years and a very long, hard night's drinking later on that Goliath had found out that Hudson really wasn't lying.

Hudson had gotten him drunk with mead, snapped the arrow and pulled the rest of the shaft from his arm himself. But even then, drunker than he'd probably ever been, he'd still passed out from his first ever taste of true agony.

Now he was going to have to go through it again, without the bloody mead this time to help.

"Damn," he growled, as he gritted his teeth and pulled on the handle with all his might.

After perhaps a second of pulling on the handle, he twisted it slightly to dislodge it and the ten-inch blade began to slide out from his forearm. He stopped gritting his teeth and screamed. The pain was a lot worse than he'd thought he'd remembered. He pulled the rest of the blade out in one quick, forceful motion and dropped it the second it was out, screaming again and grabbing hold of his arm as it began to squirt blood again.

Damn that bitch that stabbed him! Damn the coward who shot Broadway! And damn Brooklyn! Damn him for starting all this mess! That sneaky, spiteful, dishonourable little…

His eyes blazing like stars in nova, Goliath suddenly stood up to his full height. His wings flared out to their full length, while he opened his mouth and let all the rage that had suddenly rose up in him pour out through his fanged mouth into a roar seemed to shake the very earth.

To any who saw him at that moment, friend or foe, he was terrifying to behold.

Xander, who had been forced back almost into a corner at this point by a stupid, quite ugly little web-wing that had downed Elsa with a single shot from Philip's own friggin Ruger. He'd grabbed Elsa's own shortsword and BXP, though he hadn't fired at him with it yet. Which was probably due to his other opponent. A woman dressed in black with a pair of knives, who was easily one of the craziest bitches he'd ever met in the ninety-three years of his existence.

She kept coming at him! She'd obviously injured her chest earlier but the stupid bitch didn't seem to care all that much. The web-wing couldn't get a clear shot with his stolen sub-machine gun so he kept giving the occasional, clumsy attack with his stolen shortsword that Xander had so far been able to parry with his axe in a very brief reprieve from the panting crazy woman.

This woman, she was dangerous, that much was clear. Even injured, panting and coughing now and then, she was still matching him move for move, her knives deflecting all his attacks. Though her strain was starting to show. It was getting easier to block her own assaults, though it did leave him wondering how long he might have lasted against her if she hadn't actually been injured previously.

And now, to make things all the worse, that huge brute had finished with Katrina in quite spectacular fashion. He grimaced as he blocked another attempt by the black haired woman to knife his groin with the shaft of his axe.

Where the Hell was everybody else?

He had seen only two gargoyles reach the ground. Just how long could it possibly take to down two stupid gargoyles?

The web-wing came in slicing low and he swore as the serrated (and knowing Elsa, probably infected) blade struck his right shin.

"You little damned bastard!" he screamed as he staggered back awkwardly. Great. Fantastic. Gangrene. Just what he fucking needed right now.

He caught a glimpse of that big, lavender coloured brute coming towards him from behind the psycho woman. His right arm was still bleeding a little and the black armour around his arm was slick and gleaming in the light. In his left hand he was holding Philip's axe in a very purposeful manner.

"Oh fuck this," growled Xander. He was genuinely tempted to reach into his coat pocket, pull out his Glock 18, a machine pistol, and just spray them all with hot lead.

But he thought of the Boss, and just what he would do to him if he killed them all and didn't bring him something still alive for him to have a little fun with, especially considering the mess he'd made of this.

If he didn't then he would become Zaitsev's plaything, and that terrified him enough into not drawing his gun.

Maybe…just maybe he could retreat, get some assistance, and then come back and get his them for the boss.

He doubted it might do him much good, but it was a lot better than what these maniacs might do to him before assistance came.

The web-wing came at him again, swearing in what sounded like English with…was that an American accent?

He despised Americans.

He leapt over the blade as it came at him and the gargoyle yelled again in English, probably saying something unpleasant. The crazy woman attacked suddenly to his right but he blocked it with his axe and ran on. The behemoth loomed over him suddenly, the fangs in his bared mouth making Xander's look miniscule in comparison, and swung at him in a slightly clumsy, but powerful, downward arc that Xander was able to side-step, before he landed a left hook to the monster's stomach. The gargoyle bent over at the impact, slightly.

That didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.

"Shit," said Xander.

He tried to run on, but the brute lashed out with, bringing his elbow back up and right into Xander's back.

The vampire swore as he was propelled forward faster than he would have liked to go, bending forward while his arms flailed out to either side and try and balance himself. He'd dropped his axe, and if he wasn't quick they'd start shooting at him now that no one important to them was in the way.

But they didn't. Instead he heard yelling and the pounding of feet as they started after him.

But why? Surely there was no chance of them hitting anyone else with them, he definitely couldn't see anyone…

Wait, in the shadows over there…was that…

Yes!

A gargoyle! Lying on his back in the shadows, half naked, covered in brown fur with large, bat-like wings protruding from the torn clothes out of his back. In their kind's years he looked to be in his thirties maybe. He had some sort of big cat's head. His trim belly and strong chest where almost black, burned, by the looks of it by daemonic flame.

Xander grinned.

The gargoyle seemed in a very bad way, but he could tell instantly that he was still alive.

And a bad way or not, Zaitsev could still have quite a lot of fun with one for hours on end with the right tools at his disposal.

He changed direction slightly and ran right at the fallen gargoyle, not really caring how he had come by his injuries. Only needing to know really that it would please the boss and allow his displeasure to focus on Katrina, Philip and Elsa, which was just fine by him. They were assholes anyway.

The shouting behind him got louder, more desperate, as did the pounding of feet, which meant that the three chasing him had figured out his plan.

But it didn't matter. Xander had always prided himself on his speed.

In an instant he was upon the fallen gargoyle, and in another he had scooped him up in his thin, powerful arms. The shadow of the building right in front of him and his captive now loomed over him, its shadow enveloping both him and Zatisev's prey. There was a gap of maybe ten feet between them, leading down into a dark, dirty alley a couple of storeys down.

Grinning, ignoring the screaming behind him, Xander leapt down into the darkness.

Zaitsev would be very pleased with this catch.

"PETER!"

Faith screamed Fang's name again as she ran on to the edge of the roof. The pains in her chest were becoming almost unbearable but she ignored them as best she could. She was panting for breath and she was feeling more and more light-headed with each passing moment. But it didn't matter.

Saving Peter, saving Malibu, that's all that mattered to her right then. She could rest later she knew they were safe.

Goliath had passed her and reached the edge first. He looked over and down into the alley below.

But there was nothing. No trace of either Fang or the man that had taken off with him in the alley below or anywhere else that he could see.

Faith was beside him an instant later. She was very pale her hands were shaking, and she no longer looked like her legs would be able to support her much longer.

"Where is he?" she said more to herself than him as her eyes frantically ran up and down the alley. "Where the fuck did he go? Take me down there! Take me down there right now!"

Goliath was looking back down on the roof and not down into the alley anymore, and was no longer even paying attention to the inquisitor.

Did that redheaded corpse just twitch?

There was the sound of guns being cocked down on the street, and then it was followed by a long fusillade. Bullets of varying calibres started hitting the edge of roof-top that Goliath and inquisitor Thompson were near. Masonry exploded all around them. Goliath screamed in pain after a 10mm round tore a hole in his left wing. He grabbed the human with his good arm and pulled her onto the floor. She was screaming curses as tears ran down her face.

"We have to get down there!" she yelled to Goliath, over the roar of guns and the detonations of stone. "We have to help them!"

Goliath said nothing, but crawled over to the base of the wall on his belly. He got onto his knees and leant against the brick. The firing had abated slightly now and he decided he'd risk a quick glance over to see what had happened.

His head went up and his onyx grey eyes looked down onto the street. As they did so, they widened in horror.

"Oh God…no…NO!"

Burning hot tears were running down his face even before he'd got back onto his belly.

"Lexington!" he roared over the pounding of guns. "Lexington I need you over here!"

But he heard no reply.

"He's not there," yelled Faith suddenly, looking around the roof frantically.

"_What_?" bellowed Goliath. He rolled onto his back and looked all over the roof. "Lexington?"

The bodies of the dead humans were still where they lay, as was Broadway, somehow, looking even paler than when Goliath had last looked him over. But the little olive coloured gargoyle had vanished.

Goliath's head was swimming. He couldn't believe this was happening. Lexington was gone. He'd deserted them.

"LEXINGTON!"

"Malibu! Wait!"

Mal ignored Goliath, diving on towards the street and the flaming wreckage at perilous speed.

Wait? Easy for him to say! He probably didn't even care if Jezebel…if…

No dammit she was alright!

The pavement was accelerating towards him and he suddenly remembered he needed to try and land if he didn't want to break something against it. He flapped his wings sharply a couple of times, his legs now suddenly dangling just above the pavement, just as Brooklyn had showed him all those months ago when they'd first become friends.

But even doing this he still hit the ground pretty hard, and he felt a sudden ache shoot up along his right foot and he swore under his breath.

Something else Brooklyn had given him more recently.

He winced. How could it still hurt?

He limped quickly over towards the funeral pyre of their transport, but had to stop after only coming a few feet. The heat was unbearable and Mal had to suddenly shut his stinging eyes from the intensity of the flames. He crossed his arms over his face and managed to take another step.

"Jezebel!" He could barely even hear himself over the roar of the fires. He started looking desperately around the ruined street. Maybe she wasn't inside when it exploded? That could be it.

_-Please God let that be it…-_

As he turned to look down the road on his left, being careful not to plant his bare feet on any wreckage, he suddenly heard a scream of agony coming up from the roof he had just leapt over.

It sounded like Broadway. Malibu suddenly got a very sick feeling in his already damaged stomach. He really hoped he hadn't just gotten Broadway hurt. He liked the chubby gargoyle an awful lot. He was such a nice guy…

He thought he heard Demona land and yell something before he noticed a dark figure step out of a side street on the opposite side of the building they had landed on. His huge figure was silhouetted in the flames, and as he stepped forward towards the young gargoyle his features became clearer.

He was a brute of a man, with a fat, shaven head, pale skin and a pair of eyes the same shade of grey as a storm cloud. In his left hand he held a very large, expensive looking black crossbow that had been fired recently, as the thick cord on the bow was still vibrating slightly.

Mal found himself take a step back involuntarily as the man took another forward.

There was something sickening in the way those grey eyes looked him over. No, not looked, _roved_ was a much better word. The man gave a perfect smile of pearl white teeth and very dangerous looking fangs, as he pulled his floor length brown overcoat open with his right hand and rapidly drew a long, beautifully crafted rapier. He licked his lips in a disgusting manner as he took another step forward.

Mal drew his tonfa and clutched their black, ribbed handles tightly.

From behind him he heard close range gunfire, half a dozen shots maybe. Then he heard Demona let loose with that terrifying war cry of hers before he heard snarls, colourful language and the unmistakeable sound of bodies being hit, very hard, with something large and heavy.

The brute of a man before him advanced suddenly, the blade of his sword glittering in the flames as he let loose a quick combination of thrusts and slashes. Mal was caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack and was forced back as he tried to deflect each attack with his chrome tonfa, sparks flying from the shafts protecting his forearms as the thin, trembling blade struck them with great speed and force.

Mal swore under his breath. He didn't know a great deal about swordsmanship, but he could tell when someone else did. And this man was unbelievable. He was a great deal faster than his large stature suggested. The blade in his hand was little more than a glittering blur as he lashed out at Mal again and again and again. And all that Mal could do in response was to try and block every oncoming attack and hope he didn't get run through in the process.

The rapier lashed low at his legs and Mal crossed his tonfa to block it with the shorter part of the shafts that came out in front of his fists, but the rapier darted back out before it ever connected with the hollowed out titanium and instead was thrust high, and stabbed Malibu in his left arm, above the elbow, cutting through his flesh with little effort before being jerked back out while the young gargoyle screamed in pain and staggered back, nearly dropping his tonfa to grab his bleeding wound.

He heard gunfire coming from somewhere. It sounded like it was coming from the roof. The definite _crack_ of Faith's Glock followed a few seconds later by the chatter of a small burst of sub-machine gunfire, and then the _boom_ of some kind of really heavy calibre weapon.

He grunted another swear. This was getting worse far quicker than he thought possible. He didn't even know who these people were and they'd cut them in half and from the sound of it they were tearing them apart as well.

The man smiled in that sick, chilling way again as he covered the distance between them in an instant to attack Mal with a dazzling array of thrusts and slashes with his rapier, coming ever forward as his beleaguered opponent was forced ever back, his tonfa barely blocking all the attacks but never having any chance to counterattack.

The man's swordplay was just too damned fast.

He tried to leap back and away from the man, trying to escape to where he thought Demona was fighting behind him. He knew that if he kept fighting this man he'd lose, so maybe Demona would have more luck with him.

But when he was still in the air, the brute of a man leapt too, and, bringing his right leg around whilst still airborne, he planted a sweeping mid-air kick into the pale green gargoyle's left side, catching and nearly breaking his left arm in the process, and sending him flying into a wall several feet away.

Mal bounced off the wall and crumpled to the ground. He could only groan as the wind had been knocked out of him. He could taste blood in his mouth and the spots that had hung in front of his eyes when he had woken up after Brooklyn had bashed his head against a tiled floor had returned. In the moment's respite, it also hit him just how tired he was.

He'd been injured and had lost yet more blood, he'd been fighting, then running while carrying Fang and now he was back to fighting, and he realised he'd been feeding off adrenaline just to get where he was. His arms and legs began feeling unbearably heavy while his wings drooped to nearly touching his denim coat. He managed to get onto his knees while his hands were groping around for one of his tonfa that he'd dropped when he hit the wall.

The sound of heavy footsteps, seeming to come from a very great distance, suddenly came to his ears, and he looked up.

His opponent had somehow become three different people now, and they all seemed to be bouncing about his field of vision, each holding that heavy looking crossbow in their left hands, while their rapiers hung in the lazy grip of their rights. All of them wore disgustingly mocking smiles.

Hey look at me! I can beat you with one hand holding a heavy weight!

Mal got on one knee, grunting with effort. He wanted to call for help, but his throat was bone dry. He shook his head and his vision cleared for a moment and then he stood. His legs shook under his weight and he fell back against the wall, leaning on it for support. He knew he had to keep fighting, but his body seemed to have already given up. God he was so tired…

He hadn't slept for almost twenty hours before this, and even then it had only been a twenty-minute nap. He kept using the spell that made him human whenever the sun was going to come up so he could stay awake and look at the blue sky and the countryside as they drove past it. After months of being able to see the sun as it drifted across the sky, it's beauty still left him stunned, and now he was starting to pay for it all.

"Damn," he whispered.

"Tired?"

His grey eyes focused onto the centre figure of the trio. It was usually the centre that was the real one.

His opponent smiled at him, those fangs in his elastic like mouth seemed a great deal bigger somehow.

"Are you tired?" he asked in a low, pit bull voice, with only the slightest trace of an accent, which at that moment the young gargoyle could not identify.

"Get…get away from me," said Mal, his voice barely audible. The man smiled and took a step forward, but Mal lashed out with the tonfa he still had in his right hand, forcing him to take a step back again to keep a safe distance. "I said get away from me! Dem…Demona…Demona help me!"

The man laughed and suddenly came in again, before Malibu Wyvern even had a chance to react, and hit him across the face with the ornately carved, gold plated titanium hand-guard of his sword.

Mal didn't feel any pain, but the world seemed to spin around and around and around as he felt his tonfa slip out of his hand and hit the ground, millions of miles away, with a great crash that echoed from one end of existence to the other. He leant back against the wall and slid down it. He felt relieved in a way, he was so, so tired…

He stayed awake for another few seconds, before the darkness finally claimed him.

"Malibu! Wait!"

Demona had cursed under her breath when she saw the clone leap over the wall and make the short dive downwards to the flaming street below, apparently oblivious to Goliath's voice or to the shooting they'd heard before the explosion, or even taking a moment to try and figure out why their transport had exploded in the first place.

That stupid, stupid fool…

The old witch was obviously dead, so there was no point in throwing himself into danger as well.

But then again, she didn't really care much for that old hag Jezebel anyway. Bronx's loss pained her far more, even though the beast was still cautious around her, obviously not trusting her fully just yet.

She had been tempted to just let him leap down into whatever had awaited him down there, for all that he, Fang and Brooklyn had put her through.

But then she had seen Broadway chase after him, changing the whole situation.

She'd sworn to Angela to keep him safe after she'd convinced her daughter to return home to protect the couples' egg that was growing within her, though swearing would have been unnecessary.

She'd seen how madly in love they were, and how happy Broadway made her daughter, and she loved him and would protect him with every ounce of strength she had just for that. Though sometimes, she did believe he didn't seem to understand just how far Angela would go for him, just what she would be willing to put herself through, just to be with him and make sure he was safe.

She'd run to catch up with him. He'd been about to leap into the air and she was right beside him by then, and so they'd leapt together. But at that instant she'd heard something whistle through the air and suddenly Broadway had been thrown back with a scream. She'd gathered too much momentum to stop right then, and so she'd found herself on the street, being mobbed.

They'd come out of the shadows of buildings that had been caste by Jezebel and Bronx's funeral pyre, thirteen in total. All dressed in black with various weapons. She'd recognised the pale skin, the elastic like mouths and fangs instantly and suddenly she felt a rage build up within her that she hadn't known for years.

Nosferatu…

In her long existence she had only encountered their kind on a handful of occasions, but it had been enough to earn a place of hatred in her that only the humans stood above. If she had ever succeeded in wiping out mankind, she would have hunted down every last one of that vile daemon-breed next.

Sadism was almost a religion in itself to the ones she had encountered, and she doubted these ones were very much different. The truly evil ones always seemed to find each other somehow, while those trying to retain a thread of what they once were before they were turned often existed on their own, before succumbing to the daemonic nature of their condition and turning into little more than wild beasts without the support of a group.

One had stood at the corner, yelling something out as the others advanced forward, bringing a submachine gun with a large drum magazine to his shoulder to fire at her but she was faster. The first two rounds of the SVD sniper she had commandeered went wide as she had fired them at the hip, but they had forced the group to scatter slightly and the gunner to duck. The next three rounds hit him in the right elbow, detonating it in the process, the crotch and his left shoulder respectively. As he fell back she planted another round through the left lens of his sunglasses, spraying the dark wall behind him with shattered bone and grey matter.

But by that time the rest were upon her. Four ran right past her and started up the wall of the building her clan was on top of with tremendous speed while the other eight attacked her, most likely hoping to take her alive as a plaything.

But she would not be taken so easily.

The first, a fairly large man with brown hair and a halberd, came at her, swinging his polearm in a downward arc, which she blocked with the rifle, and, pushing both locked weapons up as far as she could, she lashed out with her right foot, hitting his left knee with great force and bending it back in a direction that nature had never intended. As he dropped, screaming, Demona had switched her grip on the rifle so that both her hands held the barrel and she now wielded it like a club, and she spun about on her feet as he was half-way to the ground and swung it in a devastating horizontal arc, hitting his right temple with the point of the stock and caving the softer section of his skull, cutting his scream off instantly.

The second was a woman who looked to be past her prime. Her hair was long and black going grey and she wielded a scimitar with both hands. She swung downwards as she leapt at Demona, but the azure gargess side-stepped the attack and darted past her, meeting her third and fourth attackers, a young Oriental man with a pair of Chinese Kung Fu broadswords and a large, pale, bald man with a claymore. The man with the claymore swung at her and she leapt over him, planting a kick in the Oriental's face and caving in his nose as he looked up at her in surprise while she was still in the air over his comrade.

As she landed she rolled and came up, drawing her T8 dart gun and emptying the five remaining rounds of the eight round clip into the head of next vampire, a fat man with a goatee who held a naginta polearm in his gloved hands. As he dropped she heard a pistol being fired a couple of times from the rooftop the rest of the clan was on. A moment later there was the brief rattle of a submachine gun.

She tossed her spent pistol away, knowing she wouldn't get a chance to reload, and instead she tore the sight off of the sniper rifle and ejected the clip to make it lighter and easier to wield for hand-to-hand use, holding the gun by the barrel with both hands like a club again.

The next vampire to come at her was male and wielded a longsword in one hand. He slashed at her in a wide arc, but Demona batted the blade down with the stock and stepped forward quickly, bringing the rifle up again in a short, sharp arc that hit him on the chin and sent him into the air, his jaw shattered.

A black woman with short cut hair and wielding a pair of black bladed Kama sickles came at her, cutting a downward arc with her left blade while holding the right back at the ready block any counter-attacks. Demona parried with the rifle and tripped her up with her tail. As she fell, Demona took the gun by the barrel in both hands, raised it above her head, and giving long, high-pitched war-cry, she brought the pointed end of the stock down as hard as she could on her opponent's head, which promptly caved in after a short, but sickeningly loud _crack_.

There was a loud _boom_, from a high calibre pistol on the roof, followed by the sounds raised voices and the clash of metal against metal. Demona's eye's flared.

She needed to get back up there. She needed to help her clan!

The two vampires that she had dodged past were now coming up behind her as the last one in front attacked. This one was a Cossack, one of the huge, pale riders of the Steppes. He had a trim brown beard and had a fur hat on. He held a glittering, curved cavalry sabre in his meaty right hand and a Cossack's traditional curved dagger in his left. He twirled both skilfully in his hands before coming at her, roaring in a deep voice as his sword and dagger criss-crossed in front of his huge torso in a genuinely impressive display.

Demona started to her left, dodging a scimitar thrust from the rear as she changed her grip on the rifle, sliding her hands up the barrel till both held it at roughly the centre point between the stock and muzzle of the gun. As the Cossack came at her from the front, striking out with both dagger and sabre, she spun the rifle much like a quarterstaff and deflected both attacks, knocking the dagger out of the Cossack's left hand, before she planted one of her clawed feet in his crotch.

As he toppled, screaming a very harsh curse, his sabre went out of his hand, which was now retreating to protect his damaged crotch.

The sword never hit the roadside. In mid-air a taloned, azure hand shot out and caught it by the handle.

Demona twirled the SVD in a single-handed infinity loop in front of her as she adjusted her grip on the aged leather handle, taking several quick steps back as her two remaining opponents came at her.

Poorly balanced, the handle was a bit short for her hands and the leather on the handle hadn't been tightened in a while…

She parried the claymore with the rifle, kicking the male who held it across the face with her right foot and deflected a horizontal slash from the scimitar-wielding female as she spun about on the balls of her feet with the sabre.

It would do, at least until she got her hands on the longsword or one of the Kung Fu blades.

Now those were weapons she could do some real damage with.

The Cossack was up again. His right hand held his dagger, its blade pointed downwards, while his left cradled his wounded crotch. He lunged at her. His sunglasses were gone now and a pair of glazed, ice blue eyes staring out madly in the flames to their right as he bayed like a wild beast.

Demona ducked as he swung at her with his dagger, and then thrust up the sabre, the curved blade cutting through bone and muscle and flesh, piercing his heart and stopping him mid-air.

Like lightning the blade was twisted and drawn out, and as the Cossack began to fall forward, it cut a flashing arc around him and struck at his neck, severing his head from his body and sending it into the air with a spray of blood. And as both the head and corpse fell, leaving a trail of dark red vapour in the air as they descended to the ground, Demona's eyes flared their hellish red. Casting the rifle aside she stretched out her hand and spoke several words of power under her breath.

In an instant, both head and body exploded into flame as they hit the ground together.

Demona took a second to pause and catch her breath, holding the sabre tightly in her right hand just in front of her. At least the thing was sharp.

She looked down at the flaming mound that had been it's previous owner.

And at least this one would never hunt again.

Over the roar of the flames, she thought she heard someone call out her name.

She heard a scraping to her left and looked over in that direction.

The two remaining vampires, the female with the scimitar and the bald male with the claymore were standing together, nearly a dozen yards away. They both seemed to have stopped and looked around at the carnage this lone gargoyle had just caused, and now looked very reluctant to continue.

Demona growled and took a step towards them, brandishing the sabre and flaring both her eyes and wings at once. She could have made herself look more terrifying if she wanted to, but it was enough.

Both vampires turned tail and ran down the flaming street, racing past fallen comrades and not looking back once.

A single shot rang out across the street, and suddenly her world was spinning, as a surge of indescribable agony rose up from her left leg. The sabre fell from her hand, as another shot, and another surge hit her in the belly, and she was lifted into the air.

Another shot, and then another surge of agony, and then another and she was suddenly twisting mid-air.

Who was shooting her? Where was it coming from? How had she missed anyone? How had…how…how…

She was on the ground, on her side, all she could see was the burning wreckage of her transport. She couldn't feel _anything_ anymore.

The flames danced and laughed at her as she watched them.

And then, there was more.

More than the flames, more than the twisted, warped metal and shattered stone. More than blinding, mocking light…

There was a shape in the midst of it all, growing larger as she stared, in horrid fascination, at it. The flames ceased dancing when it came near, pulling back like the tide as this thing, this entity of absolute darkness came forth out of the wreckage.

She had lost her sense of smell momentarily, so she couldn't smell the strong, exotic spices, or the strange scent that lingered underneath it.

Nor was she aware of how Malibu had fallen, or of how the fight on the roof top had fared, or of how Goliath stared down at her ruined body in horror after Fang had been carried away from them, watching as several corpses rose up again, drawing firearms at the bidding of a huge man with a black crossbow and rapier, and how they started firing wildly at them. She wouldn't know of how Goliath nearly wept in both rage and frustration, feeling betrayed, and knowing he could not save someone he had only just found again without losing everything else he held dear in the process.

She would not see him pick a near-dead Broadway up in his good arm, as Faith, her face drained and wet with agonised tears, jumped onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. She would not see them flee, nor would she see Lexington silently crawl through the darkness, oblivious to all.

All that she was aware of was the black clad figure that came towards her out of the flames. As it approached, she could begin to hear the echo of the roar of the flames again, of the _crunch_ of gravel, as those two heavy black combat boots became all that she could see of it treading along the shattered, burning road towards her.

They stopped several feet from her, and then a ruined, smoking Ithica Model 37 shotgun hit the ground right in front of her, the sound of it hitting the roadside echoed ominously in her head.

Some feeling began to return to her. She was aware of pain and only pain. She twisted her head a little to look upward and into the face of the black clad entity that stood above her.

"Demona Wyvern," said Furcifer, smiling down at her. "It is an honour to finally meet you."

To be continued…

Author's note: Thanks to everybody for their patience! I hope I didn't keep you all waiting too long! Chapter 19 will be posted in a few weeks time! Until then, please let me know if you like this story! You have no idea how long it takes me to write one of these longer chapters!

A very special thanks goes out to Caboose, for without his diligent editing and friendship, I doubt I'd still be writing fics today! You rock dude! :)

Till a few weeks from now!

Darkness


	19. The Gathering Dark

**The Gathering Dark**

Author: Darkness

E-Mail:

Author's Note: At last! The next part of the ongoing saga! A tad late but, better late then never, eh? J Hopefully those few faithful followers of my little story arc won't be disappointed with this chapter, as it was one of my favourites to write, and took a really long time and a lot of revisions and such before it was really good enough for posting. All acknowledgements, save for one, can be found at the bottom of this fic. The one acknowledgement that will be stated now is this one: The poem written in this was a fun joint effort between me and my very, very good friend Caboose, or, as he likes to be known in some circles (i.e deviantart), Sanguineous Rex.

This crappy fic of mine is dedicated to you dude! Because with out you, I probably would have given up on writing a LONG time ago! :)

"O so vast…" 

_The song echoed through his head, the voice singing it was male, and a low, powerful baritone. It had come out of nowhere. _

_"O so mighty…"_

_He was suddenly aware of his surroundings, of the paved street and the walls, the distinctly Chinese architecture, and the script nailed to the post nearby, dark with Oriental characters. He traced a claw over the dried ink. He somehow knew that what it said was important, life changing even._

_"The Great River rolls out to sea…"_

_And it all felt…so familiar and yet so alien at the same time._

_He didn't know what to make of it all. This was all happening too fast._

_"Flowers do waves thrash…"_

_He turned his head in the direction of the voice. It was just down the street a little. Maybe…maybe whoever was singing could explain what was happening to him, why he felt that he knew this place._

_"Heroes do sands smash…"_

_He walked down the street. He looked up into the cobalt sky as he did so, at the sun, which beat down on him, bathing him in its warmth, at the occasional bank of snow white clouds that floated along lazily by in the wind._

_He recalled the first time he had ever seen such a day, over a year ago when Alex had made them all human for one day as a practice for his spell casting._

_He had been left stunned into silence by its beauty and warmth, unable to understand how humans could take such things for granted._

_He took a corner and reached a gateway. The matte brown paint was peeling off the wooden gate, which he gently pushed out of his way. He found himself within a walled garden. _

_"When all the dreams drain…"_

_Peach trees filled most of the garden, all in full bloom. Shafts of sunlight came in through the gaps of the flowers and shone down on the damp, healthy grass. A soft wind blew throughout, dislodging peach flower petals and filling the air with a rain of pink and white._

_His chest suddenly felt heavy, and he had to hold back a sob. The feeling of familiarity had vanished, only to be replaced by a rush of intense loss that nearly made him cry out loud._

_He didn't just know this place; he had loved it with all his heart once._

_A simply made altar of light grey stone stood near the wall on the opposite side of the gate. He crossed over the soft, petal covered grass to stand in front of it._

_"Same are loss and gain."_

_He looked over to his right. A silhouette stood between several of the white and pink trees. The silhouette was the black outline of a man, standing nearly as tall as himself. What it lacked in height, it more than made up for with its broad shoulders and powerful limbs._

_No robes for this one, but the blunt outlines of what were obviously a full suit of armour._

_He could swear he felt it smile at him._

_It made a gesture with its arms indicating all of their surroundings._

_"All this," it said, "I gave up. All this…beauty. Everything that was in my life that I valued. All of it, I gave up. All…for the cause."_

_The spectre took a step towards him._

_"You and I are alike in many ways my young friend."_

_"How so?" he found himself asking._

_He felt the spectre smile at him again. "I'll leave you to find that out yourself."_

_He looked around the garden's interior. Birds were chirping as they glided overhead, and there was the sound of rushing water coming from somewhere too. Carried along by the wind, came the rhythmic _thump, thump, thumping _of drums._

_Both he and the spectre stood for a moment, taking in all that the wind carried to their ears. And then the spectre spoke again._

_"This…this was the last day that I stayed here. The last day that I would ever have looked upon this little piece of heaven that I had made for myself. I don't think I fully understood just what I was getting myself into really. Perhaps, none of us truly did."_

_"What was it that you were getting yourself into?" he asked, curious._

_The spectre's invisible stare seemed to bore right into him for an uncomfortable moment, before it finally answered._

_"War." It said. "I was more horrified by it than I ever let on to anyone. All I had to ease my horror was the bottle, and it did me a great deal more damage than I could have guessed later on."_

_"Then why did you not just stop fighting?" he asked. _

_"Because," answered the spectre. "I believed in what I was fighting for. The cause was noble, but ultimately doomed."_

_The birds chirped again and a few landed on a nearby branch. The drums in the distance grew closer._

_"Why am I here?" he asked. "What's happening?" _

_"Fate," stated the spectre. "That is what is happening now. You, my friend, are caught in the rapids that are history, to be carried away from all that you once held important. From all that you loved. Like I was."_

_He opened his mouth to speak, to tell the spectre that he didn't believe in fate, but the spectre raised a black hand to beg to stop him._

_"Wait," it said. "For the moment, listen. More lives depend on you than you could possibly imagine."_

_It took another step forward, coming towards him and whispering this as it did so:_

_"_Plump was his belly, greater though his heart,

His soul was that of priceless jade,

A tiger, blessed with wings in the fray,

From isle, where cloud touching castle lay.

He sought no greatness, had no ambition,

But throughout his life, damned to Perdition.

No fault of his own, a victim of crime,

Now hunted, now hated, by the Heavens divine.

Three dragons shall meet you in this life,

With them come only war, flame, and strife.

But listen now, for this truth I can tell,

To linger on the past is to make our own Hell.

The first of these dragons is cold flame and steel,

But not all that he seems, for once he did feel.

Once hailed unto the divine gentry,

Now trapped by his hate, he awaits you, on the isle of mist and plenty.

The second one a general, from the mountains, far away,

You he will call "brother". But he, you must betray,

To stop the Great River, in its flow, turning red,

As he strives to rekindle an age now long dead.

In the dim mists of the future, the third shall arise.

Sharp is his mind and bright are his eyes.

Keen is his tongue, his voice like thunder.

Together shall ye two craft a great wonder.

But time all things devours,

Birds, beasts, trees, and flowers.

So shall it your wonder consume,

And time will march on, approaching your doom.

Heed me well, for in the seeds of betrayal

Lay that which will cause your kingdom to fail.

The truth, cast aside, will open the door

To your utter destruction in the ruin of war._"_

_The spectre was now but inches away from him. It had stopped advancing. He didn't know why, but being this close to it made him shiver._

_"That," it said, "is you destiny."_

_The beat of the drums had now become loud enough to almost drown out all other sounds. With them now came the _SLAM!_ of hundreds of booted feet, all hitting the pavement outside as one. _

_The spectre wheeled around, its body language alarmed._

_"No…not yet! I haven't finished with him yet! He doesn't know!"_

_"Know what?!" he found himself yelling suddenly. "What am I supposed to know?!"_

_"No time," growled the spectre bitterly. "Never enough time."_

_It turned around quickly and grabbed him by the shoulders, its voice desperate._

_"When you finally meet him, you _must_ tell him this!" it yelled. "Tell him it's over! Tell him it was not evil that drove them to treachery; it was fear that drove them to it! Tell him that they are forgiven! Tell him enough blood has been spilled already!"_

_"WHO?" he practically roared as he grabbed hold of the spectre's arms. "Tell me! Who am I supposed to tell this to?"_

_"You'll know when the time comes."_

_"Then whose treachery are you talking about? Don't give me any cryptic crap I can't work with!"_

_It was silent, as it stared at him for a moment, like the question he had asked was monumentally stupid._

_"The treachery of your kind. Of course."_

dddddbbbbb

Broadway emitted a long, pained groan as his eyes opened into tiny slits. His breathing was harsh and more forced, his chest barely rising at all.

Goliath bent down further from where he knelt beside him, and squeezed his son-in-law's hand tightly.

"It's all right," he whispered. "You're going to be all right. We just have to wait a little longer."

Broadway tried to raise his head a little, but he was still shaking uncontrollably. He opened his mouth, trying to whisper something that Goliath could not hear.

Goliath let go of Broadway's hand and gently eased his head back to the ground.

"Ssssh," he whispered. "You have to conserve your strength. Rest. Try to sleep."

Broadway tried to say something again, but his eyelids started flickering and suddenly he passed out.

Goliath brought his good hand up and felt Broadway's forehead and emitted a silent curse.

Broadway was burning up. He had a fever.

His onyx grey eyes looked over his friend's shaking body, at the crossbow bolt that still protruded from his right shoulder.

He had been about to pull it out when Faith had advised against it. Nosferatu who congregated into groups were usually particularly sadistic, so the bolt probably had hooks on the blade to tear up flesh if it was pulled out, making the wound even worse.

But from how bad Broadway looked, it was probably also poisoned.

Goliath growled with the fury of the powerless as he looked over the street and at the eight storey building that served as a hotel for the richer percentage of tourists that graced St. Petersburg's streets. It had been the closest and most secure looking place to escape from the disaster that had just hit his clan and their allies. Inquisitor Thompson had gone inside a few moments ago and was now trying to secure a room on the top floor for them.

Broadway emitted another prolonged, pained moan and Goliath found himself squeezing his injured friend's hand again, even tighter than before.

Broadway wouldn't die. He _couldn't_ die. Goliath wouldn't let it happen. He'd lost so many already…

"Hurry up Thompson," he growled. "Please hurry up."

They waited another twenty minutes, which, to Goliath, felt like an eternity. A light on the top floor facing their side of the street finally came on, only to be turned off an instant later, and then turned on again. This was repeated twice more and then the last time the light was left on.

The signal. Goliath quickly slipped his arms under Broadway and hefted him up with some effort. His right forearm let out an agonising reminder of the injuries it had received from the stab wound in the fight earlier. He let out a pained growl and nearly toppled back as he tried to heft Broadway into his arms. He paused for a minute, shaking his head a little; trying to fight off the feelings of exhaustion that had swept over him since the adrenaline rush he'd gotten from their disastrous fight finally faded. He'd have to rest soon, and get his arm tended too before he passed out.

But his clan came first before his own injuries.

He hefted Broadway up into his arms, ignoring the agony in his arm through sheer force of will and leapt off the building, quickly gliding over to the window and landing awkwardly on the balcony as inquisitor Thompson opened the glass sliding door.

She was pale too, and shaking, and her breathing was harsh, her stride was underlined by obvious pains from her injured chest and she looked like she needed medical attention as well.

"Bring him in quickly," she said. "I'm sorry I took so long."

Goliath nodded and quickly carried Broadway in as the female inquisitor shut the door behind them.

"They had plenty of English speakers on the staff," she explained, leading Goliath over to a door. "But I had to practically buy out the entire damned floor and most of the ones below to make sure no-one hears you two when you wake up from your stone sleep tomorrow."

"Thank you inquisitor. It must have cost a great sum of money."

"I work for the Catholic Church Goliath. The cost for all those rooms is just a drop in the ocean to us. We're just lucky this place isn't that popular a place for the tourist industry this time of year."

The door opened to reveal a vast bedroom with a double bed with red and gold braided sheets and pillows. Faith quickly pulled the covers back and Goliath gently set Broadway down on the bed.

Inquisitor Thompson quickly bent over beside Goliath and looked Broadway's right shoulder over, running her finger up and down the black shaft of the crossbow bolt experimentally.

"I'd say it's about a quarter of the way in," she observed after an eternity.

"What can we do?"

"Umm…let's see…" the female inquisitor started. "Uh…I want you to get him out of that bodyglove first, but try not to disturb the bolt. Tear it off of him if you have to. We can worry about finding him some clothes later. Then do whatever you can to keep him warm. I need to go out and get a few things."

She started off towards the door.

"How long do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know!" Thompson yelled, wheeling around to face him, suddenly furious. "I don't know okay? I promise I'll be as fast as I can! Now just keep him warm and stay out of trouble till I get back!"

She turned and ran out of the room before Goliath could say anything, slamming the door to the hall outside violently.

Goliath stared after her for a moment, feeling sorry for her.

She'd lost as much to that attack as he had.

He growled another curse, and started to undress Broadway.

dddddbbbbb

They had been loaded into two vans, which had then followed an intimidating black limousine as it glided down various streets and back alleys, heading west to the docks in the port.

Lexington had kept pace with them, staying in the shadows as best he could, until they had finally turned into an industrial estate a few minutes from the docks, and then into a large concrete warehouse with a tall wire fence topped with razor wire surrounding the premises. It was tall, bleak and a dark shade faded brown. This building was the only one other than the guardhouse at the gateway on the flat concrete surface, which took up a vast space of ground.

As Lexington looked at it from the roof of a warehouse roughly fifty meters away from the grounds, he couldn't help but shiver a little. There seemed to be a strange atmosphere of decay surrounding both the place and all of its black-wearing occupants.

He saw them get out of their rides and bundle in the unconscious Demona, Fang and Malibu in through a small side door before the two vans and the limo came around to the front and went in through the now open steel sliding double doors, which promptly closed as soon as the vehicles were in.

Lexington gritted his teeth in fury as the last shaft of light coming from the inside of the warehouse vanished with the slamming of the doors.

Broadway was dying. It was obvious that the crossbow bolt that had hit him in the shoulder had been poisoned. Jezebel might have been able to help him but she was dead along with Bronx. Just thinking of the beast dying in the flames made Lexington want to scream.

But he'd have to keep his tears in check for the moment. Broadway was dying from poison and he might not last the night, and the only person who could possibly help him now was Demona. With all her years of existence she was just bound to recognise what was used and know the cure. It was simple logic as far as the small olive green gargoyle was concerned.

He tightened his grip on the BXP submachine gun that he had taken from the redheaded woman who was part of the attack on them barely an hour ago. Its weight in his hands and the weight of the Ruger Redhawk magnum in the belt of his armoured bodyglove were very reassuring. He'd dumped the woman's serrated shortsword after he'd smelled the blade and nearly hurled from the stench of disease coming from it.

Not that he was very keen on blades anyway. Like most of the clan before the massacre, he had never been into fencing that much, not because of arrogance or a lack of skill though, which was what he perceived their reasons to be.

It was because of his physical weakness and size. He _hated_ his weakness above anything else now. As the last few years had past he had found himself becoming more and more aware of it.

He had seen Goliath seeming to get bigger and stronger as the weeks since they had first awoken in this time passed them by. He had originally teased Broadway as Brooklyn had, about how his belly seemed to be growing on a nightly basis. But then Angela had shown up, and suddenly Broadway's stomach began to slowly shrink, as the fat travelled up from the waist to the shoulders and arms, becoming muscle in the process.

Hudson was older, less fit, and yet he was still a great deal stronger than Lexington was and probably would ever be. Brooklyn had been a little taller and a little better built, but most of the changes he had gone through in the past few years were more psychological, as he slowly started to isolate himself from everybody else, giving himself little else to do other than dwell on wrongs done to him in the past.

He, Lexington Wyvern, hadn't changed at all. He was still the same height he was when they had first re-awoken (his growth spurt had abruptly ended, as with most web-wings, at the gargoyle age of thirteen). Physically he wasn't any stronger, just a tiny, tiny bit faster.

His training back before the massacre had been the same as all web-wings, focusing on their strengths. Scouting, infiltration, and sniping.

He had proved to be below average at the first two, but to his own surprise, he was actually a decent shot with a short bow. He had even had a lot of fun toying with some of Xanatos' collection of bows and crossbows, but when Broadway accidentally shot Elisa, any chance of the clan ever being allowed to be equipped with ballistics went right out the window.

He briefly recalled the gargoyle who had trained him and a handful of the other web-wings in the more subtle arts of war, and who was also one of the most dangerous gargoyles he had ever met - an ancient web-wing, whose nickname had been "the Ghost".

He had been old even before Hudson had assumed command. Thin, wrinkled, bald, elf-eared, with eyes of steel grey and skin of midnight blue, he could vanish into shadows without the slightest trouble. He had been an outsider from the clan who'd just turned up soon after Hudson had assumed leadership and offered his services as a drill sergeant for scouts and infiltrators in exchange for all the ale he could drink.

He'd finally expired two years before the massacre, at about eighty in gargoyle years. Hudson had once casually remarked once that he must have killed at least fifty people with his knife, short bow and poisons.

They had lamented his loss when Hakon had laid siege to the castle. The Ghost, even at his late age, could have snuck into their camp and killed Hakon and all his lieutenants with his silent weapons as they slept.

Not that some of his former students didn't try. They had forsaken Goliath's orders and threats and headed off while the Vikings were still a few days march away from the castle, hoping to take out Hakon so that his followers might lose their nerve. Lexington had desperately wanted to go with them, but they said he was still too young and undisciplined.

He never saw any of them again. After that there were only a handful of web-winged gargoyles, all as young as he was or younger.

Lexington desperately wished the Ghost were here now. The old bastard could have saved the lot of them without any real problem. He let out a mournful sigh.

But the Ghost wasn't here. Instead there was only him. The one the Ghost seemed to be constantly furious with for lacking such talents as he possessed. The one he always pushed the hardest, and who he was constantly disappointed with. But it might be enough.

He scrambled down the wall of the warehouse, keeping himself within the shadows as best he could.

He had found where they had been taken, so now all he had to do was backtrack and try and find Goliath and inquisitor Thompson. That would be the easy part. The tricky stuff would start whenever they would have to figure out a way to rescue Demona and the others.

He landed on the ground, deciding to sneak back up along the road a little before scaling another building and gliding off, just in case those inside were watching the air for any gargoyles that may have followed them back.

Lexington ran back down the in the direction that the little convoy had come, staying right beside the wall of the building he had been watching on top of, keeping in its shadows and being careful not to let any of the lights from the streetlamps touch him.

He was coming to a corner in the building when he thought he heard something.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked around quickly, pressing the BXP's foldable stock to his shoulder, the barrel following the careful gaze of his sharp, steel grey eyes, as he scanned his darkened surroundings.

He heard it again. A faint, barely audible scratching, coming from very nearby.

But _where_?

He advanced in a crouch to make himself as small a target as possible, being as quiet as he could manage, treading forward, putting his feet as gently against the ground as possible to avoid his claws clicking against the concrete, whilst wishing that he still had the leather padded talon covers that the Ghost had made for each of his students.

The scraping came again, closer, but just as brief. It was coming from around the bend of the wall. He could hear their breathing.

Lexington eased his thumb up along the handle of the BXP until he found the switch to the safety. He silently flicked it off. He had read about this type of gun on the net. Contrary what his brothers' believed, he did not spend all of his surfing time in chatrooms and porno-websites. Human porn had been diverting for a couple of weeks, but after that time it started to get repetitive and boring so he just ignored it all and turned his attention to sites about technology and weapons. The BXP was South African in origin. It was quite light, accurate, and had a horrifyingly fast rate of fire. There were twenty-three rounds left in the thirty-two round clip he had. He had never been given a chance to loot the bitch that had carried it for extra ammo so that and the five rounds still in the Redhawk magnum were all he had.

He had to fight the temptation to just stick the BXP around the corner and empty the gun at whatever was sneaking towards him, but without any reloads there was always the chance he would miss and then he'd have to try and use the powerful Redhawk to try and fight whatever it was. The gunfire would also undoubtedly be heard by the people holding Demona and the others, who'd probably come running and shoot anything that moved.

No…he'd have to go around.

_-Who knows? It might just be a really big rat. You never can tell after all.-_

He eased himself up against the wall, keeping his breathing slow and quiet.

_-Okay…in three…-_

The scratching came again, and a low, animal growl.

_-…two…-_

Someone whispered something around the corner. Quick and low and in a language he _knew_ wasn't Russian.

_-One! Go!-_

He leapt around the corner, the BXP pressed to his shoulder, ready to fire. In the same instant there was a blinding flash of amber flame and a familiar howl. He cursed violently as the flame blinded him for an instant. He tried to fire but something hit the gun out of his hands with a metallic _clang_! An instant later something came at him from behind, and suddenly a thin arm wrapped itself around his waist, pressing his arms to his side and scooping him up as another hand clamped itself around his mouth before he could scream. He started kicking wildly at the figure that had picked him up and tried to lash at them with his tail. His eyes still hurt a little so he had to keep them closed.

"Relax," whispered the figure softly, over his struggling, its voice kind and familiar. "I'm not going to hurt you Lexington."

Lexington's eyes opened, and he looked up at the old, wrinkled, upside down face looking down on him, and his own face lit up.

"Great minds really do seem to think alike," smiled Jezebel Tibbs.

dddddbbbbb

"I want her," said Zaitsev slowly, pointing to the unconscious Demona, who lay in the arms of two of his lackeys. "Taken to a cell on her own."

He, Furcifer, Xander, and the rest of Zatisev's group of Nosferatu were in the main hall of the warehouse. It was great in size, yet there were barely more than a half dozen crates scattered along the cream white tiled floors, which reflected the strong lights from above, they were so clean.

"And what of the other two?" asked Xander.

Zaitsev regarded him with his storm cloud grey eyes. His bleached blonde second was holding the prize he had captured around the waist, guarding it jealously from the others. It was a kind of gargoyle that Zaitsev had never laid eyes upon before. It had matte brown fur with a cougar's head, and huge bat-like wings protruding limply from its back. Its fur covering its strong chest and fairly trim stomach were blackened from what smelled like a daemonic attack. Its breathing was weak and laboured.

"Kill him," commanded Furcifer. "Destroy both him and this other one at once." He indicated the other gargoyle, beaked with horns that swept backwards, with long cotton white hair and with skin of pale green. He was lying on his back, unconscious upon a table but a few feet from the assembly.

Zaitsev had downed him personally.

When none of the vampires made any move to do his bidding, Furcifer growled something exceptionally profane under his breath before turning the full gaze of his dark, dark green eyes upon their leader.

"Gregor. Destroy them. Now."

"Why?"

This response actually stunned Furcifer into silence for a moment. He recovered quickly enough, though, his face becoming dark and menacing in an instant.

"_What?_"

"Why should I kill them?" asked Zaitsev, almost lazily. "You may do as you wish with the female; after all, you did take her." His expression suddenly turned venomous for the briefest of moments. "But the two males are _mine_. And need I remind you my friend, that you are a guest in _my home_? One does not enter another man's house to order them about." He made a gesture about them. Nearly half of his followers had drawn weapons and were looking at Furcifer menacingly. "Especially when he has so many loyal servants."

Furcifer's glare could have razed cities to the ground. "_You are my subordinate!_"

"Only in rank." Replied Zaitsev, already growing bored of the argument. He turned about and started walking towards the gargoyle lying on the table. "And even then my friend, your actual authority over me is, at best, questionable."

He took his leather gloves off and placed them in the pockets of his floor length brown greatcoat. He watched the gargoyle's chest and stomach rise and fall slowly for a moment as he slept, before he pulled his shirt and t-shirt up to his throat, and examined own his prize's bare torso.

His chest wasn't nearly as strong as the other's, while his belly, though not pudgy, definitely had a lot more fat in it. Zaitsev patted the gargoyle's bare stomach, clearly disappointed. He preferred his prey to be heavier around the waist, but then again that's what force-feeding was for.

But what really peeked Zaitsev's interest were the scars. Three of them, all deep and terrible ran up in a row along the young gargoyle's belly. A fellow gargoyle's claws must have done them all; only two had then seen something like a hot coal pressed against them, as there were very horrific burn scars over them, with a few fresh gashes over these. His left foot was also covered in very brutal burn scars. There was also a scar from a stab wound to his shoulder, and three more claw-like scars were on his right cheek.

Zaitsev looked the youth over carefully, before his eyes focused on his stmach again, as it slowly rose and fell. His hands were shaking ever so slightly as he laid them on the young, young gargoyle's bared flesh. His breathing became a little ragged, and his hands shook even more fiercely as they lay on his prey's badly scared belly, and rose up and down as he breathed.

"Gregor," said Furcifer, his tone giving warning to his building fury. "_Not now_. Satisfy your lust later. For the moment, we have other work to do. We must find Brooklyn and the others."

"This one," Zaitsev whispered, ignoring Furcifer completely. "This one. He is much, much younger than he appears." He ran his left hand up to the gargoyle's throat and then down again to his belly, earning an uncomfortable, almost fearful shiver from his prisoner that only seemed to increase Zaitsev's excitement even further. He started running both his cold hands up and down the youth's bare chest and stomach. The gargoyle stirred a little where he lay on the table and groaned as if he were having a nightmare.

"So young," he whispered hoarsely, as he continued, getting a thrill from every shiver, and every fearful groan that emitted from the adolescent's trembling beaked lips. "…so…so…healthy…and…yet…so…so…"

"GREGOR!"

Zaitsev whirled around, his fangs bared in his elastic mouth and his eyes murderous for the interruption. "WHAT?!"

Furcifer was but a few yards from him, his lithe, black clad form shaking in barely contained rage as he glared back at the vampire, the whites of his eyes now black.

_"If you want to rape him,"_ growled Furcifer. _"Do. It. Later! We have business to attend to!" _

Zaitsev did not respond immediately. Instead he met his supposed master's gaze head on, and the whole area became deathly quiet, as the ancient vampire's followers cast frightened glances from one to the other.

No one had _ever_ dared speak to their master in such a tone before.

The two, Furcifer and Zaitsev, remained quiet for some time, as they continued to stare dangerously into each other's eyes. Eventually Zaitsev seemed to calm himself down a bit, as he straightened his posture and unclenched his hands.

"Very well Furcifer," he said slowly. "I shall place business before pleasure. For the moment at least."

He turned and glared at one of his followers, a fat man with brown hair and carrying a naginta polearm. "Edmund!"

"Yes my Lord!"

"Take the two males down stairs," commanded Zaitsev. "Place them in a cell together."

"Sir," interjected Xander, his voice showing the slightest hint of fear. "This one here is badly injured." He held the cougar headed one up a bit to show the injuries to his furry chest and stomach.

"Will he last till sunrise?" asked Zaitsev impatiently.

"I'm not entirely sure sir."

"In that case," growled Zaitsev. "Take him to the infirmary and bandage his wounds, and _then_ toss him in the cell with his friend here."

"Shall we strip these two sir?" asked Edmund, meaning both males, a dirty grin forming across his fat, clean-shaven face.

"Yes." Replied Zaitsev. "Burn their clothes while you're at it. They'll never need them again. And make sure you put them in the cell with the environmental controls. Might as well make their last days on earth as embarrassing and uncomfortable as possible."

Edmund nodded and selected two others to help him haul the two males over to the service lift.

"Now," commanded Zaitsev imperiously. "I will give the rest of you lot, six hours to find this Brooklyn fella. If by then we have not found him, then none of you shall participate in the little session for those two, which I shall start tomorrow at sunset. Do you all understand?"

His followers nodded and started running back into the two black armoured vans, while three others carried Demona, Fang and Malibu to the storage lift that led down into Zaitsev's underground home.

As the vans sped off to the other end of the warehouse where the automatic sliding doors were, Furcifer walked up to beside Zaitsev.

"Can they really find those three in such a short time?" asked Furcifer.

"I hope not," replied Zaitsev darkly. "I prefer to do my torture on my own."

He looked over at Furcifer, a knowing smile crossing his lips.

"And so I shall find him right now. In my own, unique way." He turned about and started heading to the doors of the service lift. "Come with me. The sooner we find this bastard, the sooner I can have some fun."

dddddbbbbb

One by one, the minutes crawled by.

The _tick, tick, tick_ of the second hand on the ornate rosewood clock that sat on the mantle of the grey, granite tiled fireplace in the main room of the apartment had by now taken on an ominous, foreboding tone.

Coupled with Broadway's slow, laboured breathing, Goliath found the entire atmosphere maddening.

He had done everything that his limited knowledge of first aid allowed him to. All he could do now was hold his son-in-law's hand tightly in his own, and whisper encouragingly into his ear.

But Broadway was warm at least.

The flue in the fireplace was actually opened, maybe to bring extra air into the room. There was some firewood by the fireguard, so he had decided to move Broadway from the bed to lying beside the fire he had now lit.

Broadway now lay on the floor, a few feet away from the now crackling flames, which were to his left. Goliath had stripped him completely to make him more comfortable and had made a makeshift bed for him out of several fake fur carpets and the pillows from the bed. There were three bedrooms to this apartment, and he had taken every blanket he could from them and covered his unconscious clansman up to his chest in them.

Despite that, whenever he touched his friend's stomach or chest under the blankets, he was still shaking and ice cold, while at the same time his forehead was burning up. But that actually wasn't the most worrying thing about Broadway's condition.

It was Broadway's shoulder that terrified Goliath.

To take him out of the bodyglove and get a better look at the wound, Goliath literally had to tear it off of Broadway. When he finally exposed his friend's torso, and looked at what the crossbow bolt was doing to him, he was horrified.

The flesh around the wound in the right shoulder had turned from aquamarine to a dark, glistening shade of violet, and it seemed to be slowly spreading over the rest of Broadway's shoulder from the lodged bolt as Goliath watched. It had now spread to almost an inch radius, and had begun to take on a strong, familiar smell of spices that Goliath had quickly learned to dread.

The poison was some sort of daemonic concoction. He had had a terribly sick feeling in his stomach that this was something that stone hibernation might not be able to heal.

Broadway groaned and his head stirred about a little on the pillows. Goliath focused back on his friend and gave his limp right hand a little squeeze with his left, which the aquamarine gargoyle didn't (or couldn't) return.

Goliath gritted his teeth for a moment from a sudden surge of pain from his wound. The pain was unbelievable. He'd torn some cloth up and wrapped it around his forearm to try and stem the blood loss. Another surge suddenly ran agonisingly up his arm. He gritted his teeth and then pushed it out of his mind, instead leaning over a little from where he sat on the cream coloured carpet beside Broadway.

"It's alright," he whispered softly. He blinked before he continued and shook his head a bit. His arm was still bleeding a little despite the cloth bandage and he couldn't stop himself from feeling so tired. It needed to be seen to, but not until he knew Broadway was going to be safe.

He suddenly imagined returning to the Eyrie, at some indefinite point in the near future. He tired to imagine telling his daughter that her young husband was dead. He tried to imagine Hudson's reaction when he learned that his son had died, gone to join the rest of the gargoyles of Wyvern. Another face to plague him in his dreams. Another face to accuse him of failing them.

And there wasn't a single thing that he could do to stop it.

"You…you can't die Broadway. Please don't die. I…I don't want any more ghosts."

Goliath continued to whisper to Broadway, booth to soothe and to plead, for some length of time afterwards that he couldn't measure. After a while the only sounds that could be heard were the flicker and crackles of the flames in the darkened room, and the sound of the clan leader's own hushed voice and the weak breathing of his friend as he tried to give comfort, though whether at that stage it was for Broadway or for himself, it was hard to tell.

But as long as he talked, he was able to keep hope, or at least, the illusion of hope, present in this dire situation.

Eventually though inquisitor Thompson finally returned, looking strangely invigorated and carrying a rather full black backpack, and finally Goliath felt some desperately needed feeling of relief from his fears.

"Sorry I took so long," said Faith, quickly closing and locking the door to the hall outside and switching the lights on before rushing over to where Goliath sat beside Broadway on the floor. She noticed the fire immediately and commented on how it was a good idea. Goliath said nothing, being too anxious to get to work on his friend.

Faith sat down beside him and quickly started to empty her backpack of all its contents. Several scalpels, vials of morphine and several other drugs that Goliath didn't recognise, due to the Russian writing. Syringes, including an especially large one in a plastic case that Faith explained was an adrenaline shot, just in case. There were also several other chrome pieces of equipment that Goliath had seen before but did not know the actual names of. There was also a white plastic bag with several tinted plastic bottles of various coloured pills in them. Goliath noticed that one of these had already been opened, as it was clearly missing at least half a dozen tablets.

"Where did you get all these?" he asked, as inquisitor Thompson started setting the scalpels and various other pieces of equipment out in a row on the floor.

"A hospital." Was the answer the female inquisitor gave, in a very on-edge tone. "I found a very co-operative orderly that spoke English."

It was all Goliath was willing to hear. He saw the Glock 17 in the shoulder holster under her black leather jacket and decided that he didn't want her to give any extra details. Right now Broadway's life was a lot more important than a pointless moral argument.

Faith examined the bolt and cursed viciously when she saw the effect it was having on Broadway's shoulder.

"Get some hot water and towels or sheets or something," she growled. "We have to get this out now. I just hope this isn't as bad as it looks."

She first injected some sedative into Broadway's right arm, and waited a few minutes for the young gargoyle's breathing to become a little less strained and his shivering to decrease a little, before she started making small incisions around the flesh where the bolt had struck, loosening it a little. It didn't seem to have shattered the bone, so it was relatively easy to pull out with just a little twisting after about half a dozen incisions. The point did indeed have hooks as she suspected. If she had just pulled it out immediately, she would have opened the wound up even further when the hooks would have caught on to flesh and pulled it up with them.

She held the steel tip of the crossbow bolt up to the light to examine it. Her heart sank as she did so.

There were runes carved into the steel that stung the eyes to look at, and the runes seemed to be sweating a gelatinous, dark violet liquid. She looked back down at Broadway as he slept uncomfortably. Her throat suddenly felt very, very dry.

"Goliath I…I'm so sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "This is daemonic…I…I don't know how to deal with this sort of thing. I'm sorry. Perhaps if Jezebel or Demona were here..."

Goliath said nothing; instead he only stared down at Broadway as he slept.

"Then…then we find Demona. We find where those creatures took her and we get her back and then she'll heal him."

He sounded desperate as he spoke. The whole situation seemed to be getting too much to handle. Faith could sympathise with that. She'd been feeling that since they had to flee. She'd been silently praying since then that both Peter and Malibu were all right. She had become very fond of Mal. And as for Peter…

_-Please God let them be alright…-_

"Yes Goliath," she said eventually. "We'll look for Demona. And when we find her, she'll fix this whole mess up." They both watched Broadway as he slept for a moment. He looked terrible, but he was strong. He could last the night if they made sure he was kept warm.

"Before we do anything though," she said. "I think you had better let me have a look at your arm. Then we should take a rest and then try and figure out just how those scum knew where we were."

"How come you are looking better so quickly?" Goliath suddenly asked. "What were those pills that you took from that container?"

"Painkillers," replied Faith.

"Just how many did you take inquisitor? Almost half the bottle was empty."

"I took enough," stated Faith briskly. "Take that cloth off and pull your sleeve up. Let me see your arm."

"Then you're still injured?"

"Yes but it doesn't matter. We have to find the others and help them." Her emerald green eyes glared at him for a moment. "And the sooner you let me see your arm, the sooner we can get about finding them."

"I think then that we should not do anything tonight," said Goliath.

Faith stared at him for a moment. "_What?_"

"Think about it inquisitor," said Goliath slowly. "Even if we knew where Demona and the others had been taken, what do we do? The pair of us are injured, and there are at least a dozen of these Nosferatu. We will not help them if we struck at them, only to be killed or captured, leaving my clansman here to die a slow death." He shook his head. "No. We must take time to recuperate. Otherwise, anything we try will be folly."

Faith glared at him, hating him immeasurably for that moment, though whether it was because he was holding her back from helping Peter and Mal, or because he was right and she wasn't, she couldn't tell.

She sighed in resignation. "Very well Goliath. We'll wait a while."

Goliath smiled and laid an encouraging hand on her shoulder. "Good. And don't worry. I believe we will know soon enough where the others are being kept."

Faith looked up into his face, now suddenly confident again. "How so?"

"Lexington," was Goliath's reply. "I think I was being very hasty when I thought he had deserted us. He would never do such a thing. I believe he may have hidden away, so that he could follow the Nosferatu back to where ever their lair is. I don't doubt that when he finds out where our friends have been taken, he'll come and find us."

"If you'll forgive me Goliath," said Faith. "But I think you're being foolish to put all our hope on him. Assuming he is doing as you say, how's he supposed to find us?"

"I don't know," admitted Goliath. "But I don't doubt he'll find a way. He's always proved himself to be an exceptionally resourceful warrior."

dddddbbbbb

"Stupid piece of fucking crap!"

"What's the matter now?" groaned Jezebel.

Lexington turned around to face her, holding up a small black tracking device of sleek design with a small pale green screen and a half dozen silver-coloured buttons on it.

"_This_," he stated, raising it and shaking it a little in his right hand for effect. "This has got to be the worst piece of friggin equipment I ever had to work with!"

"What's the matter with it?"

"It must have gotten a bit of a battering when we were in that fight," said Lexington absentmindedly. He had already laid it and his BXP down on top of a small wall and was pulling a small pouch of electronic tools off of his belt. "Look it doesn't really matter that much. It'll only take me a couple of minutes to fix it."

Jezebel sat down beside him on the wall of the three-storey building's roof that they had decided to rest on for a moment, setting her runestaff across her lap while Bronx curled up on the floor between them and waited patiently for the next jump.

Up to this point they had been travelling by Jezebel's teleportation spells, slowly figuring out just where Goliath, Faith and Broadway had fled to by using the tracking device Lexington had hanging off of his belt. He had explained to the human witch that when their bodygloves were being made he had a small tracking beacon sewn into the material of each, just to make sure he could find the others should they ever get separated during a fight.

They stayed silent for several minutes; the only sounds heard were those rising up from the streets below them and the occasional noise made by the tracker as Lexington fiddled around with the wiring and circuitry under its black steel casing with his miniature tool set.

"So," he said after a while. "What happened in the transport? Why'd it blow up?"

The thin old woman that had once been Macbeth's servant, looked out at the lights of the city. "I was…attacked."

Lexington stopped working on the tracker. There was something in Jezebel's voice that just didn't sound quite right. She sounded…upset. Really, really upset.

He cast a glance over to her. Her coat had been lost, most likely to the flames; her frilled white blouse was stained brown and black here and there from burns and was torn lightly in places as well. Her black dress seemed to have been torn slightly too. Her face was quite pale and dirty in the harsh yellow city lights from below them. The hand which was holding that metal staff with the daemonic runes was clenched so tightly it was about as pale as her face, while her other hand was shaking a little. Her short, neat white hair was singed a little. She looked very tired and a little nervous; her old eyes didn't seem capable of focusing on anything for more than a few minutes.

"Jezebel…are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes I'm fine," replied the witch. "I'm just very worried about Malibu and Fang." She sighed, looking down at the ground as she did so. "I swore to Macbeth that I would protect them. And Brooklyn too. And look at what's happened now." She looked back up at the cityscape, looking exhausted. "I've failed, yet again."

Lexington said nothing for a while, taking in everything that the woman he was starting to respect greatly had just said. There were truth in those words, he had no doubt about that, it partially explained why she was looking so upset. But something in his gut told him it wasn't the _whole_ reason.

"What happened in the transport?" he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?" replied Jezebel, very quickly he noted.

"I mean what happened," he said almost casually. "I mean _something_ must have happened in there. It did blow up after all."

"Oh yes, of course. It was me that did that."

"Any particular reason? I mean did those things attack you too?"

Jezebel seemed to zone out for a moment as he watched her. An unfamiliar expression crossed her face for the briefest instant, one he thought a woman such as her was incapable of feeling.

It was a look of sheer terror.

"Yes. Yes something did attack me. But it wasn't a vampire. It was…something else. Something a great deal worse..." She looked down at the staff in her hand, her thumb constantly running over the deep etched runes. Lexington thought that he saw a few scars on the tip of her thumb. The runes on the staff were difficult to look at for longer than a few seconds, as any longer would result in an odd stinging sensation within and behind the eyes, and the watering of the eyes as well. But as his steel grey eyes looked at the two-meter long, chrome staff, he thought he could make out dark stains within many of the etched runes. They looked a little like specks of dried blood.

He looked back up at Jezebel carefully. She had trailed off and didn't even seem aware of it. He decided to probe a little more.

"So then," he started "I'm guessing that you knew you couldn't fight this thing and win, right?"

"Yes. That's right."

"So then you blew up the transport because you were hoping that might be enough to stop it?"

"Yes, basically. I was hoping that flame might be enough to at least weaken it or drive it off."

"Sounds sensible," concluded Lexington, turning his attention back to his work. "So then you set the place ablaze with some spell and then used another to get you and Bronx out."

Jezebel remained silent, so Lexington took that as an affirmative. He picked an electronic screwdriver up and started probing the interior circuitry with it.

"Did it work?"

"Hmm…what?"

"Did it work?" repeated Lexington absentmindedly. "I mean we were pretty close when the whole thing went up. Freaked us all out. Mal especially. I actually thought he was gonna have a heart attack or something."

"I'm sorry about that," said Jezebel. "I didn't mean to scare any of you, but I didn't really have any choice. It was either that or die."

"That's okay. We'll get Mal and Demona and Fang back as soon as we find the others and you have a look at Broadway."

"Oh yes," replied Jezebel, no longer looking at the small olive-green gargoyle beside her, but instead at the runes on her staff, as she rubbed her thumb up and down several. "He's injured. We can't have him dying on us."

"More than injured," growled Lexington suddenly. "I think the bolt that hit him on the shoulder was poisoned. He started shaking really badly after it hit him and he passed out. He was ice cold to touch too, and I think he might have a fever to boot."

"That sounds terrible," said Jezebel, the hollowness in her voice not picked up by the otherwise sharp Lexington, as he was too focused on repairing his tracker again.

"There!" he declared triumphantly. "Fixed!"

He quickly put the tracker back together. He then stuffed his tools back into the pouch on his equipment belt and picked his BXP up. He looked at the blipping screen for a moment, before pointing east. "They aren't moving. And they're about half a kilometre or so in _that_ direction. Jump us to there would you Jezebel?" He indicated the top of an eight storey building eastwards, about a hundred meters or so away with his sub-machine gun. "I should be able to get a clearer idea where they are then. Might only be a few more jumps after this one."

The last bit was said with a little hope in his voice. He found the old witch's preferred mode of travel a little flashy and disorientating.

Jezebel nodded, rose and walked a few paces away from the wall. Lexington walked up beside her, followed by Bronx, who stood by his young master, apparently looking forward to the next jump as much as he was.

Jezebel held her staff in her hands tightly and began to whisper something in Latin; a language Lexington thought was a little too archaic to be learned.

"So," he found himself saying suddenly. "Did it work?"

Jezebel stopped her chanting and looked down at him. "Did what work?" she asked, puzzled.

"The fire attack," explained Lexington casually. "You said you blew the transport up to try and stop that thing that attacked you. I was wondering if it worked. You never said if it did or not so I was a bit curious."

Jezebel stared at him for a moment, her features devoid of any recognisable expression.

"No," she said finally. "I don't think it did work. If you want me to be honest, I don't think I even phased it."

"Do you know what it was? I mean I saw the explosion. What kind of thing can survive that sort of explosion?"

"Something of immense power," replied Jezebel, casting her thoughts back to her spell. "And of incredible evil."

A column of fire, the colour of vibrant amber, erupted out of the ground, surrounding the trio and enveloping them in an instant, before flashing out of existence as fast as it had appeared, taking the three companions with it.

dddddbbbbb

They had turned on the television set, and its light now became the dominant source of illumination in the room besides the fire.

Goliath had darkened the lights again as he feared it might make Broadway uncomfortable. He still sat attentively on the fine carpet beside his sleeping son-in-law. Broadway's breathing was still weak and forced, though not as bad as before. Bandages crisscrossed his chest and right shoulder. All the heavy blankets had been pulled right up to his throat now to keep him warm, while Goliath still tended the fire, using one of the wooden chairs in the room as fuel, rather than call room service and raise suspicions. The right sleeve of his black, armoured bodyglove had been pulled up, the stab wound on his forearm cleaned and bandaged, and he had taken a few painkillers to ease the pain until sunrise, which was still several hours away. The crossbow bolt from Broadway's shoulder lay on the mantelpiece, a pool of its disgusting violet poison growing around the bolt head as the minutes passed.

Inquisitor Thompson was watching the television. She had dealt with her own injuries in the bathroom rather than let him help her with them. Her breathing was fine now, and she'd only taken one more of the painkillers she'd brought back earlier.

She had been skimming along the channels, looking for any that spoke English, to at least allow her to kill a few hours before she went to sleep.

She eventually found one American station, a news station. The female reporter at the minute was doing a report on some bizarre events occurring in the Orient. Faith had come in perhaps a couple of minutes after she had started.

_"…This is the fifth such occasion,"_ she stated. _"That something this unusual has occurred in the city of Cheng Du, within the south western region of China. Though of course, compared to the other events that have happened in the recent months, such as the first occasion when a rainbow appeared in the main square of the city during a snowstorm, this is most certainly the most violent to date._

_"The white coloured viper that supposedly appeared out of thin air and bit and killed the head of the Communist Party of the city, Xu Zhou Cang, as he was in the ancient Prime Minister's palace on a tour, has yet to be found. _

_"A powerful cult within the city and surrounding provinces, calling themselves "The Servants of the Sleeping Dragon", openly defied the Communist Party only hours after the representative was killed, by taking over a local radio station for a brief period of time, and declaring that these are signs from the Heavens that a period of great violence and chaos will soon sweep over all of China…"_

There was a scratching at the window, snapping Faith and Goliath out of inactivity in an instant. Both were up quickly, Faith holding her Glock ready, while Goliath Broadway's sword in his left hand as his right was pretty much useless to him now.

"Hello?" called a familiar, and nervous voice from the sliding glass doors. They'd pulled the curtains closed and so they couldn't actually make out the figure. But it was unnecessary.

Goliath smiled in delight as he heard the voice. "Lexington!"

The lavender gargoyle swiftly ran over to the balcony door and pulled it open. Sure enough, there was the little web-wing, a BXP submachine gun and a small black device in hand, and a huge smile on his face.

"Hi Goliath," he said almost casually. "Miss me?"

"Where have you been?" asked Faith, lowering her pistol.

Lex looked her over for a moment, still smiling. "I was following those goons that took Demona, Mal and Fang actually."

Goliath and Faith exchanged looks for a moment, Goliath looking like he had won some sort of bet, while Faith looking like she had obviously lost.

"How's Broadway?" Lex asked, the smile on his face replaced with a look of concern.

"He is resting," replied Goliath, looking tired and worn. "We took the bolt out of his shoulder, but it was poisoned. Its spreading under his flesh, though its moving slowly. I thought it might be wise to wait a while to recover our strength before we took any action." A proud smile came to his lips. "I also believed that you might have followed our attackers, and may be searching us out." His smile became greater. "I knew you wouldn't abandon us."

Lexington could feel his chest swell with joy at those words. Goliath was, and always had been, an idol to him. But at that same moment, the words that the daemonhost known as Sin, spoke to him telepathically popped up in his mind, and Lexington suddenly found himself unable to meet his leader's gaze anymore.

Those words it told him…

_-No! Never…-_

"Well," he said as he started looking at the floor, suddenly feeling very, very small. "You might be pleased to know then that I found more than just those goons' lair when I was out."

"Really?" said Goliath. "What else did you find my friend?"

Lexington headed back to the balcony door and rushed up to the rail and leapt upon it. He waved his hands about for a moment and then jumped down again and headed back into the living room.

Goliath was about to ask what he was doing when a column of amber flame suddenly erupted out of thin air upon the space in the balcony. Goliath took a step back in surprise as Faith cursed and raised her gun again.

But the flames vanished as quickly as they had first appeared, and there before them stood two companions thought lost to them. Bronx, looking ecstatic, his stubby tail wagging, ran up to Goliath and rose up on his hind legs to plant his front paws on the clan leader's chest, giving him his own version of a hug, as the old witch, Jezebel Tibbs, stood back, leaning on her staff, looking tired and dirty, smiling.

Goliath and Faith stared at them both, speechless.

"Them," smiled Lex.

dddddbbbbb

"I will of course," said Zaitsev slowly, "require you to remove that little incantation that you've undoubtedly placed over him."

"Of course," said Furcifer.

The two of them were standing in one of the rooms underneath the warehouse, a part of Zaitsev's little underground complex. This was a room that had not been on the previous tour that the ancient vampire had given Furcifer.

It was where many of Zaitsev's old trinkets were kept. There was a strange smell within. It was a mixture of the musty smell of ancient paper, and the unmistakable aroma of disease.

Centuries of vast wealth and eccentricity had allowed him to amass quite a grand collection of valuables and artefacts of power.

The room itself was circular and perhaps fifteen meters in diameter, while the ceiling was two and a half meters up from the green marble tiles. The walls were of the darkest ebony and gold, while the ceiling was of tiled obsidian.

There were three concentric circles of steel framed shelves and racks in the grandiose storage room. The first row out held two hundred and sixteen texts, books and scrolls of the different disciplines of the black arts, their ages varying from to fifty years to several thousand. The second row, the middle one, was half devoted to housing a great variety of jars of many shapes and sizes, containing potions, pickled organs and even several fully severed limbs, some mummified, some well preserved within their jars, while the other half was taken up by a grand collection of magical talismans, from the necklace of the first of China's Three Divine Rulers, to the leather and iron belt of Genghis Khan.

The last, interior row, contained a full suit of dark green plate armour, a bastard sword with a thorny, rune encrusted, puss sweating blade and large circular shield, each emblazoned with the symbol of Grandfather Nurgle. There was also a banner with the symbol of Zaitsev's patron lord upon it; as well as several chests of dark wood and iron along with a rack for several other, less corrupted swords upon which the ancient vampire placed his unbuckled rapier.

In the very centre of the room was a waist high white marble pillar of Romanesque style, and upon this small pillar sat a rounded object, hidden under a black, embroidered silk cloth.

"Impressive," said Furcifer, taking in all that he saw around him. "You've become a bit of a magpie if I may say so."

"Thank you," replied Zaitsev gracefully. He stepped right up to the central pillar and placed his gloved hand upon the black silk. "This is my most prized treasure," he said, his pit bull voice low and proud. "Next to you and I my friend, _this_ is the oldest thing in the room."

He pulled the cloth away with a tug rich in drama, and Furcifer saw what lay hidden beneath it.

"By The Prince…"

It was an orb about twice as big as a human fist. It rested upon a three-legged stand of purest jade, carved into the semblance of three formidable Chinese dragons. Its silver surface glimmered in the light.

Zaitsev turned a proud eye to where Furcifer stood just a couple of feet behind him. His black clad colleague's eyes were wide in amazement.

"How, the Hell, did you get _that_?" said Furcifer eventually, his voice trembling with awe and what seemed to be a rising level of anger.

"It's a long, long story," replied the ancient vampire, folding his arms over his black pinstripe suit with its dark green mandarin shirt underneath. "I…could tell you I suppose, but I think I prefer to leave you guessing."

"Brooklyn must not be shown this!" exclaimed Furcifer suddenly, that rising level of anger Zaitsev had noticed now coming to the fore.

Zaitsev raised an eyebrow, discreetly smiling to himself. "Why not? I'd imagine that this fellow would appreciate seeing this piece of history. Why on earth would it be bad for him to see this, to touch it, to know all that has happened since his kind _made it_?" He turned around slowly, his smile becoming dirty as his storm cloud grey eyes watched Furcifer carefully for any slight reaction. "Unless of course, my old friend, this compromises what other forces are telling him."

Furcifer stared at him, his whole posture like that of an oncoming hurricane but Zaitsev didn't care. He was having fun with this and he'd be damned if he stopped now.

"Tell me, my old friend, does the truth contradict with what he believes?"

Furcifer trembled in rage. He opened his mouth to speak, to threaten, to destroy, if necessary, but Zaitsev raised a hand and beat him to it.

"No need to say. I think I can guess what he's been told. This is, after all, you we are talking about here my old friend. I know how you love your little religious dramas. But don't you worry. I won't say anything. I shall keep my mouth shut and not say a word." He smiled. "But…my silence shall cost you."

Furcifer crossed his arms, looking tense and suspicious. "What, will it cost exactly?"

"The two males," said Zaitsev instantly. "I have a feeling that they're important to this Brooklyn of yours, which is why you're so eager for them to die. I want you to make it clear to him that those two are now _my property_. That female can be given to him if he wants, since you took her. Females don't really interest me a great deal anyway."

"Agreed," said Furcifer. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I'm not coming with you."

Furcifer stared at him for a moment, stunned. "_What?_"

"I said I'm not coming with you," repeated Zaitsev, his grin dark and frightening. "After he acquires the gauntlets, you lot can go on without me. Despite all its fault, I _like_ this place, and I do not wish to be uprooted so unceremoniously." He began to slowly circle the pillar, the light from the orb that lay upon it casting a strange, silvery light upon his pale features, while his eyes sparkled ominously. "Besides…I want to spend some time with my new playthings. They shall keep me happy for quite some time I imagine. Gargoyles have always proved to be most resilient. Already, I can envision a great many ways in which they shall entertain me. Who knows? If their pain and despair pleases me sufficiently, then I shall give them my kiss, thus ensuring that they keep me entertained for years instead of days."

The pillar was now between him and Furcifer. For a while both were silent, their eyes drifting to the shimmering orb in the centre of the room, which they stared at for just a little while.

"Do you agree?" asked Zaitsev eventually.

"Yes." Said Furcifer. "Yes. I suppose the terms are quite reasonable. We have a deal."

Furcifer took a step forward, looking at the ancient vampire over the shimmering orb. "Now, old friend. Find Brooklyn. Find him, so that our Lord's work can be done. Find him, so that we shall be out of your way, so that you may torture those two fools downstairs. No more delays Gregor. Find him for me. Find him, _now_."

Gregor Zaitsev smiled. "As you wish, my Lord."

He raised his hands above the orb, muttering in the ancient tongue of the daemon. The reek of decay became stronger with every word that he spoke. The bastard sword on the weapons rack shuddered, spilling more puss and bile from its dirty, rust tinged blade. The banner, made of the skins of dozens of sacrificial victims, fluttered in a breeze that didn't exist. Within the jars, organs and limbs twitched sporadically, as if receiving small jolts of electricity.

Furcifer closed his eyes for a moment, muttering the counter to the incantation he had placed on Brooklyn, to protect him from any prying eyes who knew the proper spells to spy on others.

He opened his eyes again after a moment, as the shimmering of the orb became a weak glow of silvery light as it began to emit a steady hum.

Under all the background noise, Furcifer could hear whispers. They were low, barely audible at all, and always coming from some point just out of the edge of your vision, always on the extreme corner of your eye. There was the undeniable feeling of being in the presence of some others in the room who were watching, but never becoming involved.

They were daemons, the very least of all daemons. Weaklings who had been summoned eons ago and whose continued stay in this world was through the tether granted to them by the orb.

Contrary to what some may believe, it is exceedingly difficult to summon and contain a weak daemon. When a point in reality is stretched and opened, and a mind reaches forth into the warped, insane reaches of the daemonic realm or, as some chose to call it, the Warp, the presence of their consciousness is like a beacon in the night, declaring their presence to all.

This psychic light attracts many of the strongest and most ruthless of daemons to it, eagerly searching for prey and possibly even a physical vessel, whilst the weakest ones flee, wary of wills stronger than their own, who will be able to force them to reveal their true names, thus turning them into slaves.

And so, one must plunge their own consciousness deeper and deeper into this realm of madness, giving chase to them, as their minds weather the mental assault of daemons of all descriptions, clamouring around their consciousness, making empty promise after empty promise, offering anything and everything in exchange for their souls. Until at last the mind catches up with the weakling, and, grasping them tightly in a mental vice grip, they must return to the break in reality that they created, closing it up behind them, lest something stronger gives pursuit and follows them through.

Only the strongest of minds could possibly accomplish this and remain sane, and yet this was only half the job.

A vessel would have to be found to contain the daemon without having to rely on the will of the caster's mind to hold it, and that took great time, effort and vast resources to construct successfully. This process was an art in itself, exceptionally dangerous and now long forgotten.

But once it was done, this "Daemon Tether", as it was known amongst its creators, could be a most invaluable resource, for it allowed the owner to send out all the weak daemons that they could amass and trap into the tether, out into the world, to literally act as both the owner's eyes and ears. Depending on the strength of the caster's will, a whole pack of daemons could be released from the tether and sent out to anywhere in the world, at any distance at the speed of thought, searching for whatever it is their master wishes to know, their movements totally uninhibited, except for the hold that the tether held on them, always dragging them back within it if the master's concentration is broken or something else occurs which breaks their line of thought.

It was the ultimate in information gathering. Absolutely reliable, as long as the caster's will could overpower and control the weak daemons trapped within the orb.

As Zaitsev continued to mutter incantations in the daemonic tongue, Furcifer fancied he saw a small, unrecognisable blur appear near the orb and then vanish into the corner of his eyesight with incredible speed. His dark green eyes did not bother to follow it, for it was impossible, even for one such as him.

This happened nearly a dozen more times before Zaitsev finished chanting, and spoke.

"I wish a description. Give me details that they should search for."

"He is in this city and he is a gargoyle," stated Furcifer patiently. "His skin is red as fresh blood. He is beaked and with great horns sweeping back over his head. He has hair and it is cotton white in colour. He is reasonably tall and well built. Hs eyes are hazel. He carries with him the Black Sun Staff and around his neck is the Lack of Conscience. He is also the bearer of a copy of the _Malus Codicium_. Riana and Jeremiah, two of His guardians, accompany him. Is that sufficient?"

"Perfect," smiled Zaitsev, turning his head to look at him. The ancient vampire then cast his storm cloud grey eyes down upon the orb, which was now glowing weakly.

"Search him out," he commanded imperiously. "Find him and tell us of his location. Now _go!_"

And an instant later, the feeling that there was others present in the room vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Now what?" asked Furcifer after a moment's silence.

"We wait," replied Zaitsev, not looking up from the orb. "It should take them no longer than half an hour. By dawn, we will know where they are, and then we can go and get them." A dark, sadistic smile spread across his lips. "And then, when the sun sets, I can have some fun."

dddddbbbbb

Bronx had been lying at Broadway's feet since the beast had first entered, and refused to move away from the injured gargoyle, even as Jezebel prepared to work on his poisoned shoulder.

Lexington sat on the floor near Broadway's head; to both tend the fire keeping his shivering brother warm with pieces of shattered table and chair and to give Jezebel whatever she needed as she worked on him.

Goliath and Inquisitor Thompson were out 'acquiring' a list of medicines that the witch had quickly drafted up and told them to get. Unfortunately Jezebel didn't seem to know the cure to whatever poison was being used on his oath brother, but she knew of other ways to help him.

The poison was quite slow acting and slow to spread, so she was going to dig it out of Broadway's shoulder. The medicines that she'd sent Goliath and Faith to get would be used then to speed the healing of the wound up and prevent infection.

Goliath and Faith had been gone for maybe half an hour now and Lexington was hoping it wouldn't take them much longer to get back. He _really_ didn't enjoy watching this.

Jezebel had taken off Broadway's bandages and had pulled all his blankets down to his waist, exposing the strange smelling wound on his shoulder. Lexington's eye's had widened in horror, as he saw the drastic change in skin colour around where the bolt had hit his brother. It was spreading under the flesh, along the bone Jezebel had said, taking up a scalpel after she had observed the wound for what seemed to the olive green gargoyle like hours.

She explained that she was going to have to cut his shoulder open and scrape the poison off the bone underneath. Lexington felt sick when he heard her say that but agreed to help anyway. Despite the fact that seeing blood made him a little squeamish (another reason, undoubtedly, why the Ghost was constantly disappointed by him), this was his brother after all. There was no lengths he wouldn't go see him safe.

Jezebel must have noticed how uneasy he felt about seeing his brother cut open because she had patted him on the shoulder and smiled at him while saying: "Lexington, relax. I watched my grandmother do this twice in similar cases and trust me it works. She developed it herself from a technique she read about in a Chinese history book. He'll have a very bad pain in his shoulder for about a week afterwards but he'll be fine. I swear he will."

That did actually make him feel better, though this feeling vanished the second that Jezebel made the first incision and a violet, mucus-like substance oozed out of the wound. Lexington found himself watching in horrified fascination as the flesh on Broadway's shoulder was slowly carved open and kept that way with pins and anything else sharp that the old witch could use, allowing Lexington to now see bone, covered in thick, strange smelling violet liquid.

"Scalpel," said Jezebel.

Lexington placed one of the half dozen or so that they had available into her hands without even looking at her. His steel grey eyes couldn't draw themselves away from the now gaping hole in his brother's shoulder.

But worse was to come.

Jezebel took the scalpel, placed the blade along the bone horizontally, and used it to scrape some of the violet substance off. Seeing it was bad enough for the young gargoyle, but _hearing_ the metal run along his brother's exposed shoulder bone was awful.

Jezebel wiped the vile stuff off of the blade with a washcloth and proceeded to repeat the process.

_Scrape…_

_Scrape…_

_Scrape…_

"Scalpel please."

Lexington handed her a fresh one. He wanted to say something but found that his throat was bone dry. He'd been feeling hungry before they'd begun but now he was glad Jezebel had suggested that they eat after. He felt like vomiting, but there was nothing to throw up.

_Scrape…_

_Scrape…_

"The story behind this technique's quite interesting you know," said Jezebel, her tone conversational as she continued to run the blade along Broadway's shoulder. "There this general once, from…China, I believe. From quite a long time ago. Scalpel please."

_Scrape…_

_Scrape…_

"I forgot his actual name, but I think that his style name was…Yunchang. I can't really be certain but we'll call him that anyway shall we? Anyway, once while on campaign he was shot in the arm with a poisoned arrow. It had similar properties to the bolt that hit Broadway. Scalpel please."

_Scrape… _

_Scrape…_

"His arm became useless and his men thought his only hope was amputation. But Yunchang would have none of it, because the arrow had hit him in his sword arm. Scalpel."

_Scrape…_

"His men became desperate and called out for any one skilled in medicine to come and heal him, because he was actually a living legend during the time, I believe he was even deified later on. Scalpel."

_Scrape…_

"They had practically given up hope when this famous doctor arrived and offered his services to the general. Some sort of weird travelling doctor that was supposed to have been very famous in his time. When they asked what had to be done, the doctor explained that he would have to cut the general's arm completely open and scrape every single bit of the poison off of his bones and even at bits _out_ of his bones. Scalpel."

_Scrape…_

"So they go to Yunchang, who's playing a game of chess to keep his mind off the pain, and tell him what has to be done to heal him. The doctor offers him sedatives and asks for a few of his men to hold him down as he performs the operation, but Yunchang refuses any drugs or any help, as it will interrupt his game. Scalpel."

"So what did they do?" Lexington found himself asking.

"The doctor performs the operation on old Yunchang while he's still fully conscious and while he's still playing his game of chess. He just sits there with his arm stretched out for the doctor to cut open and work on, while he chats away and drinks and plays his game like nothing's happening. All the while his poor sub-commanders are all watching, quite horrified and many on the verge of fainting. Scalpel. Anyway after a while the doctor finishes up and closes his arm up and then sews the flesh back together while Yunchang is still playing chess."

There was a pause, followed by a satisfied sigh from Jezebel as she placed the last tainted scalpel down on the cloth with the others.

"There," she said. "All done."

"Huh?" said a puzzled Lexington. Had she really finished it up so quickly?

"All done," repeated Jezebel. "I've got it all out and now I'm going to close the wound again till Goliath and Miss Thompson get back. Then I'll just make up a batch of my grandmother's medicine to place in the wound and then he should be fine." She picked out the pins from Broadway's shoulder and then started to apply some fresh, clean bandages.

Lexington couldn't help but sigh in relief. He gently laid a hand on Broadway's forehead and frowned. "Jezebel, he's still burning up."

The witch checked Broadway's temperature aswell. "Yes. He still has a bit of a fever…though it should break soon." She got up off of her knees while smiling at Lexington. "Don't worry Lexington. He'll be all right. He'll be very weak for quite some time after this; I don't think he'll even regain consciousness for at least a few days."

"He'll be okay though," said Lex, his voice hoarse for just a little moment. He had felt a great terror he'd barely known was there suddenly lift from him. His brother was hurt but he was going be okay…

Jezebel started gathering up some of her equipment. She'd have to get things ready to see to inquisitor Thompson whenever she came back. Then she'd also have to get ready to make a draft of one of her grandmother's old medicines to give to Broadway to ease his pain a little more. Then make sure he didn't wake up when he cracked out of his stone shell tomorrow morning as he was likely to scream and then pass out from the pain. She hoped Goliath and inquisitor Thompson would find everything on the list she'd written up for them. She realised dismally that tonight and the next were probably going to be extremely busy and draining ones. It wasn't that she minded the work a great deal; it was just that in the past few weeks, she was becoming increasingly aware that she wasn't a young woman anymore.

After nearly fifty years in her late master's service, time was finally starting to catch up with her.

"So what happened to Yunchang?" asked Lexington.

Jezebel was suddenly snapped out of her thoughts and looked over at Lexington. "Hmm?"

"Yunchang," repeated Lexington. He looked drained, but relieved. "What happened to him then?"

Jezebel thought for a moment, recalling the old books, dusty and crumpling at the edges, that had all rested on the creaking shelves of her grandmother's room, that had been read to her ever since she had been about a quarter of Lexington's height. They'd been collected from all over the world when Macbeth and her grandmother had travelled together, going on their adventures. The book this particular story was in had a huge compendium of tales, rather than a structured novel. She tried to remember the footnote her grandmother only read to her once at the end of the story, as this particular one was factual.

"He died," she said after a moment's reflection. "He was a victim of betrayal, both from inside his own camp and from supposed allies without. But he was also a victim of his own pride. While on the same campaign that he was injured, he was attacked from the rear by supposed allies, and then some of his own officers betrayed him. He was eventually captured and beheaded. Legend has it that his ghost came back and killed one of those that were responsible for his death, such was his desire for vengance."

"Wow," said Lexington. "That's pretty cool."

"Yes. I suppose it is isn't it?" replied Jezebel. "I'd feel sorry for anyone else who he might have held a grudge against, wouldn't you?"

"Definitely."

Jezebel finished packing her equipment away while Lexington sat in silence beside his sleeping brother. She was worn out, so she decided that she would get a little rest before Goliath and inquisitor Thompson returned, and then she would double-check their injuries, make Broadway's medicine, and then settle in for a nice, long sleep.

She told Lexington that she was going to have a quick lie down, and promptly headed to one of the doors leading to a bedroom. Her runestaff was resting against a wall and as she passed by she reached out for it but suddenly her hand stopped a few feet away from it.

She stared at it for a moment, watching the reflection of the crackling fire dance upon its chrome surface. The runes carved into iron surface were but darkened shadows in the flickering light, and yet, despite this, she could have sworn she had seen some of them glow weakly as she had stretched out her hand to take hold of it.

A feeling of dread welled up in her; where it came from, she did not know. The only thing she was positive of right at that moment was that she needed rest, and that she while she rested, she didn't want her staff to be anywhere near her.

"Something wrong Jezebel?"

The old witch looked over to where Lexington was sitting. He looked worried for some reason.

"Jezebel," he repeated, concern starting to seep into his voice. "Jezebel, is something wrong?"

"No," replied the witch after a moment. "No nothing's wrong Lexington. I just felt…a little funny for a moment. I shouldn't worry about it though. I'm just tired. There's nothing else wrong with me." She managed a weak smile at the olive green gargoyle. "When Goliath and inquisitor Thompson get back, please be sure to wake me. I'll be resting in here."

"Will do Jezebel. Thank you."

Macbeth's old servant nodded, turned about, and went straight into her room, closing the door quickly behind her.

Her staff remained outside, leaning against the wall close to the door.

Lexington watched the door for another moment, his expression unreadable. And then he turned his attention back down to where Broadway was sleeping, and a smile crept across his lips, and its cause wasn't totally from the relief felt from knowing Broadway was going to eventually recover.

It was also caused by the realisation that he may have underestimated the old woman who was now lying down to rest, and that gave him a feeling of relief nearly equal to knowing Broadway was going to be fine.

He leaned over and patted Bronx on the head, and scratched him under the chin for a moment, and then started to throw more wooden wreckage into the flames to keep his resting brother warm.

dddddbbbbb

In the ancient city that had seen the fall of an old order and the ascension of new, more violent one, which in its turn, fell as well, the sun finally began to rise. A warm, orange glow began to chase away the deep blue, while the clouds that lingered like a thick grey blanket, became outlined in golden light, as the sun began to bore through them.

To the extreme northeast of St. Petersburg, there could be seen on the horizon a very thick bank of black rain clouds, rapidly approaching the city, carried along by fierce winds. They would arrive in less than an hour after the sun chased off the last trappings of a most violent night, promising very heavy rain that would not let up till the sun had nearly set again.

In a street near the harbour, near one of the old, ruined palaces of the Tsars, hiding under a bridge that ran over the canal, and sitting on a protruding rock, was the necromancer and dark guardian, Jeremiah Rincewald. He was in a tattered, dark brown suit with a cream coloured shirt with no tie and the top button lying open, while he wore a pair of black shoes that were a size too big for his feet. Across his lap lay a two meter long black staff with a silver raven, its wings outstretched at one end and a blunt, silver cap piece at the other. He stared down at the muddied ground between his feet with a pair of tired, sky blue eyes.

Something in his jacket pocket rustled, and a small squeak was emitted from the same pocket a moment later.

"Hush," he whispered.

There was a creek from within the ambulance, followed by a very violent crash and a long string of devastatingly crude obscenities, before the back double doors were roughly thrown open and out jumped an enraged Riana Mirelip in a tattered, mud brown dress with white sleeves. She looked over at her companion.

"Fuck," she stated.

"Is he flesh Riana?" asked Rincewald almost casually.

Riana fixed him a venomous stare and said nothing. Instead she dived her hand into a pocket sown into the dress and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a battered old lighter. She lit up a cigarette, took such a long drag from it that the whole shaft leading up to her pale fingers nearly disappeared, tossed the spent cigarette away, blew out a veritable cloud of smoke, and then proceeded to light another.

Rincewald watched her, fascinated, as she repeated the process twice more, before she finally stuck the lighter and packet back in her pocket.

"Cheap crap," she muttered under her breath, looking out over the muddy brown water of the canal.

"Well despite that I think that was rather impressive," said Rincewald. "Can you do any other tricks?"

"Eat me stiff shagger."

"And join that long, sad list of unfortunate men? I'd rather not thank you."

Riana glared at him over her shoulder for a long, terrible moment, before she looked back at the waters.

The smell of salt was in the air. The echo of gulls calling to each other could be heard along with the slow flow of water. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

"He's still flesh," said Riana.

"Hmmm," muttered Rincewald.

"I guess you did underestimate him," said Riana, smiling smugly.

"I've met gargoyles before who broke the stone sleep," replied the necromancer coldly. "And they didn't need such a powerful artefact to do so." He rose slowly, taking his staff firmly in his right hand. "You can keep your blind, brainless faith in him my dear, but I'll maintain my scepticism. I don't think he is the one we're looking for, and I think that when we find Gregor, he will agree with me."

"Whatever," said Riana.

Rincewald rolled his eyes and started over to the rear of the stolen ambulance, muttering incomprehensibly as he did so. If Brooklyn was still flesh during the daylight as he had been yesterday, then he could be out much longer than he had originally feared.

The doors had slid closed again during his brief conversation with Riana, so he was reaching out with his free hand to grab one of the handles and yank the door open when something…happened.

He stopped, his hand open and halfway to the handle of the door. A black, one eyed, fat rodent stuck its head out of his pocket, hissing in a very dangerous way. He felt as if he was being watched, as if there was some, small set of cunning eyes were staring at him from some unseen corner.

His tired, sky blue eyes suddenly came alive, darting from here to there, as he felt the presence and the eyes shift suddenly from their original position, as if knowing that they had been spotted. His eyes caught sight of something dart under the ambulance. A small, dark blur that he could only see in the corner of his eye.

The fat, one-eyed black rodent suddenly leapt from his pocket, landing on the muddy ground, emitting a viper like hiss as it ran under the ambulance in pursuit, a sickening green trail of flame coming out of its empty eye socket as its single pair of large teeth began to get sharper and even larger than before.

There was a shuffle from behind and when he looked around he found Riana at his side. She had pulled a single edged knife from her pocket.

"We're being watched," stated Rincewald.

"Duh."

There was the sound of a brief scuffle from under the ambulance. Then there was the feeling of something rushing between them at incredible speed. Then just as fast as it had come, the feeling of presence vanished, leaving a subtle scent of familiar spices in the air, which faded an instant later.

The black rodent came out from under the ambulance a moment later, and leapt up onto Rincewald's open palm. It hissed.

"Good Fuzzy," said the necromancer.

"I thought he was supposed to be a guinea pig?" said Riana, looking at the fat rodent familiar. It was still fat and black, though its body had become more streamlined and its one remaining dark green eye was a great deal smaller and slit like, while its legs had become thicker, more powerful, and the claws at their ends were now almost crescent like blades while its two primary teeth resembled thin daggers. "He looks like a rat on steroids."

"He was," sighed Rincewald sadly. "He started changing when he tasted the corrupted flesh of those two meat puppets of Harrison's. They were infested with all sorts of daemonic power that that madman pumped into them to keep them working. Poor thing."

"That was a daemon he chased off," said Riana.

"I know."

"A weak one at that," continued Riana thoughtfully. She looked over at him. "A spy?"

"Very good," replied the necromancer sarcastically. "Nothing gets past you does it?"

Riana glared at him but decided to stay on topic. "Who do you think sent it?"

"I dare say it was Gregor," replied Rincewald, patting his corrupted familiar gently on its rough head.

"What makes you so certain?"

"Its an incredibly flashy and complicated way of looking for someone," explained Rincewald. "Just like him. He can't do anything without showing off in the process. He's an egotist." He looked up at her. "I suggest we wait right here. It shouldn't take him long to find us."

"Are you sure?" asked Riana, her scepticism glaringly obvious. "It doesn't sound like Gregor to me."

"I'd stake my beard on it," replied the necromancer confidently.

"Okay," smiled Riana, her look sadistic. She brandished her knife casually in front of her companion. "I'll hold you to that one."

The necromancer grinned at her with unusual confidence. "I guarantee you Riana, that within an hour or so, we'll be back in the lap of luxury. And then you can finally get back to covering yourself in black leather like the brainless gimp that you are."

"We'd better stiff shagger," growled the woman, brandishing her knife menacingly in front of his gruff face. "We'd better. Cause if you're wrong and that spy wasn't sent by Gregor, I'm using you and the rat as bullet shields."

With that, she turned around and headed back to the ambulance.

"Bitch," muttered Rincewald.

dddddbbbbb

Alone in a cell deep underground, upon a blanket-less bed and in tattered and torn clothes, lay an unconscious Dominique Destine. She moaned and rolled onto her side, dreaming of a great building, multi-storeyed and made of wood. It was aflame and she was trapped inside the vast main hall with its shattered table, as flames poured down from the roof and the sound of earth shattering explosions dominated everything.

She looked around suddenly and saw Broadway, cloaked in deep shadows, a small, stereotypical angel resting on his right shoulder, and stereotypical devil on his left. In his left hand he held a rosary made of bones and in his right he held a tiny, dead Chinese dragon, its throat slit. Blood poured from his mouth as he fixed her with a disturbingly sadistic grin, and his dead, glazed turquoise eyes seemed to stare right through her.

"You're fault," he said accusingly. "Not mine."

dddddbbbbb

Within the cell next to the dreaming Dominique's, Fang and Malibu lay.

Both were on individual, steel framed beds covered with plastic and with no covers and only one, rock hard pillow each. Apart from the bandages covering Fang's chest and stomach, both had been stripped naked.

Mal lay on his back, a statue that looked like it was unconscious, or at least in a very deep sleep. He had a horribly vivid day-mare of being trapped in a room where the walls and floors were made of hands. Like in a bad adventure movie the walls began to close in on him. The hands stretched out and grabbed him, holding him tight as they started to rip his clothes off. When he was finally naked, the cold, fishy skinned hands began to run themselves all over his trembling body, while he screamed and screamed and screamed.

Fang also lay on his back. He breathing had gotten weaker, far more laboured, despite the treatment his wounds had received. He groaned, his breath foggy in the room's considerable cold. He was shivering, despite the fur covering his body. His head fell to the side and he started coughed, spitting some blood onto the plastic cover of the bed he lay on. After a little while longer he coughed again, spitting up some more blood as his breathing became even shallower than before. His head turned and he rolled a little onto his side.

And then he stopped breathing...

dddddbbbbb

Several kilometres away from these cells, in a top floor hotel room, a handful of gargoyle statues were crowded around the fireplace, where one of their number lay under many blankets, in what looked like a drug induced sleep. Because of this and his injuries, Broadway Wyvern would dream nothing that day.

Sitting at his side in a worried pose, Goliath dreamed, as he always did, of the faces of those he failed, hovering above him, accusing him of treachery and bringing down vile curses upon him, as he lay, tied down to the ground, unable to escape their hatred.

Lexington was near Broadway's head. He dreamed of the Ghost, giving off to him for his constant failures, and of the daemonhost known as Sin, and the terrible future that it had told him of.

In two other rooms in the penthouse, Faith and Jezebel slept uneasily, their dreams filled with fear for those whom they cared about, as a thousand grisly scenarios played out in their minds.

And yet even then, in their most troubling of nightmares, they could not guess the terrible fate the trapped gargoyles when the sun finally set.

dddddbbbbb

In an ambulance near the canal, Brooklyn lay unconscious, with enough drugs in him to knock out an elephant. He dreamt nothing, while barely a kilometre away, an intimidating black limousine pulled out of the industrial estates of St. Petersburg, gliding down the streets like an underwater predator, heading his way, its pale driver humming to himself as his two immortal passengers sat side by side in the back, as silent as the grave.

dddddbbbbb

As the population of St. Petersburg awoke, and began to prepare themselves for their daily routine, many turned on the news. There were the usual reports concerning murders, rapes, disappearances, and a brief side note on the sighting of winged monsters in the mall near the city centre, which was declared by the militia to be caused by some sort of mass hysteria. Finally the weather came on. It was going to be a very wet day, with almost total cloud cover for most of the day. The sky would only be clear for a handful of hours, before a great bank of storm clouds building up in the north would descend upon them, unless of course the winds changed, which was unlikely.

The population of the great city groaned almost as one.

The day was going to be long and miserable, but it would be nothing compared to the misery of the night ahead.

To be continued…

As it will probably be a while before the next instalment comes out, due to college life imposing itself upon me, I thought it only fair to say thanks to: Storyseeker, The Sadistic Cow, Revenge, Chris Velazquez, Doppelganger, Yume No Zencho, Maelgrim, Worker 72, Mooncat, Dylan B. Blacquiere and anyone else who had been kind enough to offer ideas, constructive criticism or even just a kind word about my work over the past couple of years that I've been doing these fics. You all totally rock! :)

And now, back to trying to write more trash!

Till I return!

Darkness


	20. Clarity

Clarity 

Author: Darkness

E-mail: Note: Once again, I would like to thank everyone who has written to me about my fics, especially my good friend, Caboose, for without him, this crap would never have come so far along. J

For you bro.

Now enough mushy Hallmark crap! On with the dark fiction!

"Fear is the first step on the road to His Hell, and hopelessness is the chain by which He binds His slaves. Sorrow is His nourishment. Horror gives Him form. He preys on those who would submit to bitterness and those who closet themselves in misery, while life moves on around them. He is terror in the face of decay and disease, and He is inaction in the face of all that is received as inevitable.

"He is our impotence to resist the savages of time, and He is our morbidity. He is revulsion and self-deceit, and He is the acceptance of defeat. He breathes His cynicism into our souls and binds us to His will.

"He is Grandfather Nurgle, and He is obstinate, self-indulgent, despair."

- _Ramheldt Van Hadden, Witch Finder Captain._

"Family is not defined by who you share blood with. It is defined, by who is it that you share love with." –_ Unknown._

dddbbb

When they met there were no words of welcome, no embraces, not the slightest hint that he was happy to see them after such a long time in isolation of one another. Instead the ancient vampire had stalked right past the two of them and entered the back of the ambulance without so much as a nod.

It was, Rincewald noted, just typical of Gregor.

He was such cocky, arrogant fucker.

And then Furcifer had gotten out of the other side of that intimidating black limousine they'd arrived in. He'd given him a brisk nod and then went over to talk with a suddenly excitable Riana, who was doubtless desperate to get into something tight, expensive and made of leather now that her watch over Brooklyn was over. A moment later both had disappeared into the back of the ambulance, leaving him standing there, in a crappy brown suit while the rain assaulted him mercilessly. He had put on the hat that had come with the ill-gotten suit but it did little to protect his face from the angry rain. He briefly considered getting into the back of the ambulance but immediately threw that idea out of the window.

If he went in there that meant he would have to be near three of his comrades, which was the very last thing he wanted, as he despised them all.

He despised Riana because, despite all her knowledge in the art of combat, she was basically a pleasure seeking, masochistic idiot. He despised Furcifer because he was arrogant, melodramatic, and loved to show off the authority he had been granted over the other guardians.

And as for Gregor…

Well, seeing the ancient vampire again suddenly brought back all the memories that the necromancer had of the representative of The Grandfather.

Like his patron Lord, Gregor fed off the misery and despair of those around him. He lived to ruin hopes and dreams. Every single fibre of his being was driven by a malevolence that actually frightened Rincewald. Even all those millennia ago, when he had been at his worst, Rincewald still had his own limits to the amount of pain he could cause, the amount of havoc he could wreak. Gregor had no such limits. His evil was unrelenting, always had been, and Rincewald had felt it still surrounding his comrade the second he had stepped out of his limousine.

And as the vampire had passed him by, the necromancer had briefly wondered if he had become a paedophile yet, as it was an inevitable activity for such a monster to do so sooner or later. The misery such an act could cause would drive him into it, as long as he didn't get caught in the process.

He heard their voices in the ambulance over the rain. He wondered briefly just what Gregor would make of the unconscious gargoyle they'd brought for him to see. He hoped that for once he and the vampire would be in agreement: that Brooklyn, despite all his supposed talent, was really just a brainless whelp that had only gotten so far by blind luck and his own immortality. The Conscience around his neck had apparently made him a very different person according to Riana, and that's what was really bugging the necromancer more than anything else.

The Lack of Conscience was a key, a symbol of The Prince's approval. It wasn't supposed to alter the subconscious of the wearer. They had to have the will to go on the full way to lay claim to all the weapons themselves.

So why had Brooklyn been affected so much by wearing it?

Fuzzy squeaked in his pocket and Rincewald patted his familiar and best friend gently on the head with his free hand as he held onto his staff loosely in the other.

There was something terribly amiss here…

He would have pondered on this further, if the obnoxious ringing of a cell phone from within the ambulance hadn't interrupted his train of thought. A moment later Gregor had jumped out, a ridiculously expensive looking mobile phone pressed against his fat, shaven head. He looked both surprised and furious at the same time as he rattled off a long string of orders and threats in Russian as he stalked past Rincewald and towards his limo, ignoring the rain completely.

After he was only a few feet from his car he switched the phone off and glared back at the necromancer.

"Something wrong?" asked Rincewald casually.

"Tell Riana and Furcifer to grab that gargoyle and get him into this car right _now_," commanded Gregor. "We have to leave this instant! Apparently one of the gargoyles I caught last night didn't turn to stone this morning."

"What happened to him then?" asked Rincewald curiously.

"He just died a few minutes ago," replied Zaitsev.

dddbbb

"Penny for your thoughts."

Anubis looked from his reflection in the glass of the hired train's window and regarded the black woman who sat opposite him. "Hmm?"

Inquisitor Genieve de Morangias gave him a friendly smile. "I said 'Penny for your thoughts."

The Egyptian Fey regarded the Inquisitor carefully for a moment before replying.

"I was just thinking about our new partner," he said uneasily. "He frightens me, yet Puck will not listen. He's convinced that we can use Harrison to our advantage." He shifted in his travel robes and looked back into the human face that stared back at him on the glass as the endless plains of Russia rolled out for what seemed like eternity before him.

He looked away, rubbing his bearded, bony chin. "He is an Inquisitor is he not? Do you know anything of him?"

Now it was Genieve's turn to look uncomfortable.

"Well…yes. I know of him."

"Well?" prompted Anubis, sitting forward.

"Well," started Genieve, giving a smile. "Let's just say that I know enough to know that my rear isn't worth jack-shit if anyone else in my order finds out I was working with him."

"Then why are you working with him?" asked Anubis, amazed. "Why are you exposing yourself to such danger when you know better than I of what this man is capable of?"

"Because," said Genieve simply. "I believe in Puck. If he says he can handle Harrison then I believe him. After he's done the job for us we'll all put him down together, which should put us in very well with our superiors. There will be great rewards in store if we play this properly."

"Oh," said the Egyptian Fey simply, sitting back and putting his hands on his lap. So that was her game. She and her friend were ambitious. Speaking of which…

"Exactly how do you and Mr. Faulkner know each other?"

"He's my half-brother," replied Genieve. "My father and his mother met while in Hong Kong. She was divorced, he was a widower. Needless to say, both of them got on just great. I was only two at the time. Robert was six months old. We grew up together."

"And your parents are now dead," said Anubis. It was a statement, not a question.

"That's right," said Genieve, "They both were killed by a group of cultists that called themselves 'The Sons of the Black Throne'. Me and Robert were in our late teens. We saw the whole thing from were we were hiding. We waited till we were both of legal age to inherit our estates, and then sold the whole lot except for a small house in England." She paused her story to light up a cigarette. She took a light drag off it and offered it to the Fey, who politely refused. Then she continued. "While we were waiting for the cash to come in we had found out the names of the ten guys in charge of the whole thing and we found out where they usually went for a drink and to meet together. This dingy hole of a bar in Hong Kong. We went in there on this, shitty night in June, about eight years ago now. We walked in there, him with an Ingram, me with a Spectre-"

"What are they?" asked Anubis, raising an eyebrow.

"They're sub-machine guns," replied Genieve quickly, clearly annoyed at the interruption. "Anyway, we went in there with our guns, walked into the back room where they were all meeting, and we just laid waste to every single one of the fuckers, BAM!"

She sat back in her seat, a nostalgic smile on her face as she looked out the window and continued to smoke her cigarette. "Damn but that was a lot of fun. That's where we met Puck actually."

"What? You mean he was one of the people you were shooting?"

Genieve looked at him as if he were stupid. "No," she snapped. "He was in the front part of the bar watching the strippers."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," growled Anubis, leaning back against his seat and folding his arms.

"Anyway," continued Genieve. "We happened to have the bad luck to go on our shooting spree while there were some police just coming in the front to get their weekly bribe from the owner. The second we walked out they started shooting at us and we knocked the nearest table over as cover."

"Which happened to be Puck's."

"Exactly." Continued Genieve, grinning. "You couldn't make this shit up could you? Anyway Puck's beside us as the police are putting holes all over the place and while me and Rob are shitting ourselves Puck's laughing his ass off. We ask him just what the hell he thinks is so funny and he says he wants to thank us for making his last night in Hong Kong so interesting, so he asks us if we'd like it if he got us out of here. We say sure and the next thing you know he's snapped his fingers and suddenly were in his apartment twenty blocks away. We sort of hit it off from there. We hung around each other for a year or so before the Inquisition approached me and Rob for our little barroom massacre. We kinda drifted apart a bit after that, though we stayed in contact. Though I gotta admit I was a little shocked when he landed in my bed out cold. I mean we hadn't heard from him for a few months and then BAM! The next thing you know he lands right on top of me while I'm sleeping. Out cold and all his clothes practically burned completely off him. If I hadn't known he wasn't interested in me I probably would have taken advantage of him while he slept." She made a grin and looked him over, as if checking something. "Good story eh?"

"Yes," said a disconcerted Anubis a moment later. How did people like this always find Puck? "Yes…it was a…very good story."

"Thanks."

"Yes."

"Wanna fuck?"

Anubis stared at the human female for a moment, stunned. "Excuse me?"

"I said," replied Genieve slowly, as she leant forward and made what the Egyptian Fey guessed to be a seductive smile. "Do. You. Want. To. Fuck. Me?"

Anubis had recovered himself enough at this point. This woman had quickly gone from reasonably dislikeable to just another venomous whore which the human race seemed to produce in the thousands. So it was no surprise that when he lent forward and gave his answer with a contemptuous look, it was: "No. Way. In. Hell."

Genieve seemed to suddenly change in the instant after the tactless rejection. While the smile did remain, there was a change in her beautiful sapphire eyes. Where before they had been inviting, they suddenly became cold, dangerous. Then a slightly cruel twist began to spread along her lips and suddenly it occurred to Anubis why Puck may have slowly started giving this woman the cold shoulder.

Not only was she ambitious and gleefully violent, she was spiteful as well.

"Okay," said Genieve suddenly, her voice velvet, yet laced with ice. She rose from her seat gracefully, and the powerful muscles on her ebony arms seemed to flex unconsciously as she strode over to the sliding oak door. "I think I'll go and have a look for Robert. We'll talk later."

In a moment later she was gone, going to the right and not looking back at him or anywhere else and leaving the door lying open. As Anubis rose to close it a few moments later, Puck suddenly stuck his head around from the left side and gave his old friend a grin. "That's a bad enemy you've made there jackal-boy!" he cooed. "If we slept, I'd be advising you to do so with one eye open from now on!"

"How can you associate yourself with such people?" growled Anubis, stalking over to the window. "Xanatos, Demona, Harrison, _that woman_! How do you find all of these people?"

"Just lucky I guess," grinned Puck, taking off his badge-speckled leather jacket and throwing it on one of the couches. "And, personally, I always find the dangerous types to be so much more fun to hang around! They can be so unpredictable!"

"It will get you killed someday," said Anubis, crossing his arms. "Such recklessness always leads to danger. Are you really so hasty to throw your life away?"

"Oh Lord," groaned Puck, rolling his eyes. "Not another 'life is precious' speech Anubis. _Please_. For a guy who was worshipped as the god of Death you can be incredibly dull, you know that?"

"Puck…"

"Why don't you try living a little for once eh?" smiled the Fey trickster, jumping forward and giving his friend a friendly elbow in the chest and a knowing wink. "Why not go after Genieve and take her up on her offer? It could only do you good."

Anubis just glared at him silently for a moment, choosing not to dignify such suggestion with an answer. Eventually Puck lost his smile and sat down beside his jacket. "Honestly. You're just no fun sometimes."

"Where is Yuri?" asked Anubis.

Puck shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. She can't stand any of us and believe me the feeling's more than mutual."

"Then what about that woman's half-brother?" asked Anubis, clearly displeased. "Where is he?"

"With Harrison," replied Puck immediately, sounding a little disappointed. "Those two seem to have hit it right off. It was inevitable really. Robert knows everything there is to know about Harrison apparently. He's been dieing to meet him and discuss the all the stuff I imagine Inquisitors just love talking about. It figures I suppose. He was always a bit of a weirdo. You always have to wonder at the sanity of a man who likes the _Foo Fighters_."

Anubis raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "He…he actually enjoys spending time with that…that _monster_?"

"Now, now Anubis. Let's not go around calling people names behind their backs," smiled Puck, rising suddenly. He started wandering aimlessly around the small cabin, running his lithe fingers along all the different surfaces carelessly. He always had a difficultly staying in one place for more than a moment. It was a trait that Anubis thought a little annoying. "I know there're a few bricks missing in his building," Puck continued, "But that doesn't mean that he won't be useful. Remember, my good half-jackal buddy, we're here to clean up old Daddy Oberon's mess, and we'll need Harrison's help to do this. If we don't work with him then we have to alert the court and then you know what will happen don't you?"

"Yes," sighed Anubis, relenting. "There'll be a scandal. All those in the court who don't want Oberon as King anymore will use this as leverage to their arguments to have him removed from power. They'll say he plays favourites, breaks his own laws, flaunts his power, that he is unfair, biased, ignorant, stupid, irresponsible, corrupt and a host of other things that make him ill-suited to be our ruler."

"My, my," chuckled Puck, wrapping his arm around his old friend's permanently tense shoulders. "If I didn't know better old buddy, I'd say that you didn't particularly like our King. Can it be true?"

Anubis looked down at him seriously, for in his preferred human form, he stood several inches taller than his friend. "I'd much prefer to keep my own loyalties to myself, especially when we do not know where Yuri could be."

"Right," nodded Puck, giving a knowing wink. "Got ya." He had always known that Anubis' loyalty was to Titania and Titania alone, as was that of many of the others on Avalon. Most held loyalty to themselves, and had formed many factions (the most powerful of which was the followers of the Wyrd Sisters), while the gargoyles on the island followed the Princess Katherine and Tom, whose loyalty was most likely to themselves as well. Now that he actually stopped to ponder it, he realised that Oberon only probably had a half dozen loyal followers in the entire court. The only reason that he held the throne was because Titania was loyal to him, despite his courting of the Sisters, and could thus bring the strongest faction to bear against the others, who, despite being much larger, were all badly co-ordinated. All they really needed however, was one more example of gross incompetence or terrible leadership on Oberon's part and they could very well unite against him, and then Avalon would go from paradise to war-zone in a matter of hours, first to remove Oberon, so that another could be fought to decide who should rule after him. Oberon was a terrible King, but at least with him there was peace of sorts. It would simply be too costly to try and find a better leader if he (and consequently, Titania) were ousted from the throne and killed.

"You've led us into quite a situation here Puck," said Anubis after a while, giving a smile that held no humour. "I can only hope that you are able to get us out of this when we need to. I feel that Harrison could well be as great a threat as Brooklyn is feared to be by Titania. Perhaps even greater, for his madness does seem to have method in it."

"I can handle Harrison," said Puck confidently. "I said I could handle him and that's what I'm going to do. You shouldn't doubt me old friend."

Anubis looked away from him and down at the lavishly carpeted floor. They both remained silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the train as it glided along the tracks.

Puck couldn't stand silences and said: "I'll tell you what my good half jackal-buddy. Why don't we go and find Yuri, huh? We can ask her about her own thoughts on this…if she has _any_."

Anubis nodded silently. Puck picked up his jacket and slipped it on and then they both went out the sliding door and closed it behind them. Puck went right and down the narrow passage, with sliding doors leading to empty cabins on one side, and huge windows showing the rapidly passing countryside on the other.

Anubis followed a few steps behind, in deep thought.

Harrison may be mad, but he most definitely was not stupid. Since they'd all started out together on his hired train, Anubis had gotten the feeling that the renegade Inquisitor knew they had planned to cheat him on the deal they had made from the start. He had to know that they would never give him access to Avalon, never mind its library, so why did he agree to have them tag along? He wanted to think it was because Harrison wasn't as powerful as he seemed to enjoy hinting, but he doubted it. Harrison was probably stronger than him, Yuri and Puck put together. He really didn't think Harrison was joking when he said he didn't need them to help him take down Brooklyn. But, then why?

Anubis could only think of one explanation, and it filled him with dread.

Even though Harrison may have no use for them at this moment, he might definitely have use of them later after all this was settled and Brooklyn was defeated. For even though Harrison did not have direct access to Avalon, he had in his grasp three Fey that did. Harrison was probably being honest when he said he wanted access to the island's library, to the collected knowledge of the Third Race, for within it were hundreds of tomes of magic that could make someone as powerful and determined as Harrison the equal of even Oberon or Titania.

And that was just from the knowledge stored in the library that was mentioned in books of legend. The other was hidden away, deep in the bowels of the castle, and only those who were closest to the King and Queen knew of it. The items that were kept hidden in there could make someone like Harrison a god in all but name.

But even as this dreadful thought occurred to the Egyptian Fey, he immediately thought better of it. Because then, Harrison would have to know of that place's existence before he could get access to it. And even then, the only ones who held the keys were Oberon and Titania. He felt relief as this occurred to him, for it meant that the artefacts and most powerful tomes were quite safe, even if someone as powerful as Harrison did gain access to Avalon. For no one outside of the court's inner circle knew of its existence, and it was more than likely that none of them would _ever_ be so foolish as to let slip the knowledge of its existence. For if the wrong members of the court did learn of this secret library, it would invite disaster upon the whole Third Race and perhaps, even the rest of the world.

However, Anubis did not believe that even Oberon could be so foolish.

Unfortunately for him, he was wrong.

**Avalon**

Hector lay on his back on the grass, and let out a long, contented sigh. The thin, weakly built gargoyle was relaxing on one of the grassy hills to the north of the island, near a very picturesque pond upon which several ducks and magnificent white swans glided effortlessly along the still waters. His hands had stopped shaking for the moment, but that was because his needs had been satisfied. At least for now anyway…

Hector was a pleasure addict. He knew this fact. He even accepted it, but he _hated_ it as well. He hated his addiction. He hated his rookery kin. But most of all, he _hated_ the Fey.

If one were privy to all these facts, then it would undoubtedly lead one to wonder that if Hector really did despise the Third Race so much, then why ever would he be Titania's personal errand boy?

The answer to that was simple, if one knew Hector's history, for he was an addict _because_ of the Third Race.

Two nights after their arrogant lordships had arrived on the island that was his clan's home, Hector had been enjoying a bath in the very pond he was currently laying close to. He had been waiting for the now late Aaron to show up, for they had secretly been lovers for several weeks before the Archmage had come to the island, followed hotly by Goliath.

After waiting for about an hour Hector had decided to go look for Aaron, but when he had come out of the water he had found that his loincloth was missing, as were the towels he was planning to use to dry himself off. He had rolled his eyes at the time as he'd guessed it was Aaron who had taken them, as some sort of lover's prank just so he could watch Hector wander around nude for a while before showing himself.

But it had not been Aaron. It had been Titania…

Hector had wandered around calling for his companion for a few minutes before he had come to a small patch of trees that littered the island. He saw his clothes hanging from a branch and had started climbing up, but when he was halfway up the trunk; a powerful, invisible force suddenly took a violent hold of him and pulled him from the tree. He had been twisted around in mid air and pinned against the trunk of the tree spread-eagled, and then suddenly the Queen of the Third Race appeared in front of him. She raised a hand before he could even open his beak, cutting off his terrified pleas as she weaved a spell that sent every pleasure centre in his thin body into overdrive, giving him more pleasure in that one instant than he had ever known.

And then Titania had muttered something else, and the pleasure was redoubled with every single word that came from her voluptuous red lips, pushing him over the line of psychological dependence and far beyond.

They stayed like this for what could have been an hour or a week, Hector, naked, pinned against the tree, his entire body drenched in sweat, his muscles so tight from the intense pleasure that they were on the verge of tearing. While Titania just hovered there, with a disgustingly superior smile upon her face as she watched her future slave go through the psychological equivalent of a hundred orgasms every second for an unknown period of time.

She had stopped only because he had a heart attack, and after she had healed this injury, she watched him as he lay on the ground, so exhausted that he could barely breathe, never mind move, and had said: "Did you enjoy that Hector? I'm betting you did. Would you like to go through it again? Well I shall tell you what. If you wish me to perform this service for you again, then you must be willing to perform services for me. It's your choice entirely of course. If your answer is yes, then come to my room when you have recovered some of your strength and have cleaned yourself up a little bit and we shall talk." He wasn't sure if she'd vanished after that or had just walked off for he had lost consciousness the next instant. When he had finally woken up, it was about four days later, and he was in the bed in Aaron's room, much to his own horror.

The deep orange gargoyle had found him lying there after being three hours late and had immediately taken him off to his room to take care of him, completely forgetting to bring along his clothes and leaving him naked until Hector had asked about them only seconds after he had woken up.

He was still too weak from his ordeal to move and so he had to endure three more days of Aaron's disgustingly feminine fussing and nursing before he was finally strong enough to get up out of bed and leave. While all that time he had been aching for Titania and the pleasures her spells offered him, while hating her with every fibre in his being at the same time for leaving him with a life-long addiction that would never be satisfied.

There could have been no choice in the matter. He had realised that while Aaron did his best to please his weakened lover over the next few nights of his recovery. Aaron had failed miserably in the process.

There was no doubt in the matter at all. Titania had him in her grasp and she was never going to let him go until he was of no use to her anymore. Then she would just leave him, stuck with his pleasure addiction, perhaps even hoping that the void she had created in his life would lead him to suicide, thus leaving her free of him completely.

If she didn't kill him before that, of course…

Hector knew that the Queen was growing concerned that her hold on him might be exposed. His appearance had changed noticeably since she had made him an addict. His hands constantly shook, his voice trembled occasionally when speaking and his thin frame had become steadily thinner as he ate less and less. If someone figured out that he was the Queen's errand boy and just how she was keeping him under her control then there would always be the risk that another faction within the court could very well get information on her plans from him by making him a better offer.

Which is exactly what had happened the day after Hector swore loyalty to the Queen. It was also why he was now lying on the grass, with the warm, gentle sun shining down on his naked body, and on the naked bodies of the Wyrd Sisters, while all their clothes were scattered around on the fresh grass.

He had come to them as soon as he swore loyalty to Titania, looking for a better offer, and they had granted it eagerly. Only they and their supporters had the power to help him satisfy the addiction inflicted upon him by the Queen, and only they and their followers had the power to overthrow her and her witless husband.

In return for his services, the Sisters had broken his stone sleep and they had given Hector as much pleasure as Titania had; only they weren't disgusted at the idea of touching a mortal like Titania was. Because of this, he was truly able to enjoy the time he spent with the Sisters; while in Titania's case he only ever felt like he was being violated, though admittedly that would never stop him going to her for more. Pleasure was pleasure after all.

But most important of all, they offered him the chance to take revenge on Titania, and the rest of her kind and on his rookery kin as well.

They would all pay eventually…

"Have we satisfied your lust Hector?" purred Selene, running one of her pale, silk soft hands along his weak chest and stomach.

"Yes, my lady," sighed Hector. "I thank thee for thy tenderness, thy love, and thy skill with words of power."

"Then you will tell us of the Queen and her plans?" whispered Phoebe, as she played with the tip of his tail.

"It would be an unforgivable act if I were not to, my Lady Phoebe," said the stone-grey gargoyle, sitting up and stretching. He looked at each of the Sisters in turn and suddenly he felt very dirty, so he suggested playfully that they all bathe in the pond while he told them of what Titania had done last night.

The Sisters agreed, to humour him of course, and after Hector felt comfortable with the Sisters crowded around him in the cool water he told them of how Titania had sent off Anubis and Oberon's own concubine to the mortal world to try and find out why Puck had broken off contact with the Queen. He also told of how Titania was preparing for a suspected attack by a very stupid and vindictive gargoyle she called 'Brooklyn', who had apparently been wronged by Oberon (though he was careful not to mention that she knew it was done so at the Sisters' prompting), and who also apparently had access to some especially dangerous pieces of human technology.

The Sisters listened with their usual eagerness, desperate to learn all of the Queen's plans so that they could prepare counter moves. He wondered briefly if they would tell Oberon about Titania's sneaking behind his back in front of the court, or in bed with him later. Or perhaps they would keep this new information privy to themselves. He thought about this briefly in the moment of silence after he had finished giving his report while the Sisters absorbed the information he had just given them.

Just what move might these three scheming whores make?

"You have served us well, loyal Hector," smiled Luna, taking her turn to speak the Sisters' minds. He found that to be their most irritating trait.

"Clever Hector," purred Selene.

"Cunning Hector," chimed in Phoebe.

Hector took the false praise with his usual, well-practised humility, insisting as he always did that he was unworthy of such praise by those so much greater than him. That he was their loyal servant, that he loved them for their kindness to him, that he worshipped them, that he knew that soon the whole island would be theirs and theirs alone, and that till then and beyond he would stand by them as their most devoted follower…

Etc, etc, etc…

The Sisters, while bad at giving praise even when it was justly deserved, had an almost insatiable desire for it as Hector had for pleasure. He could easily envision a court filled with nothing but brainless sycophants should they ever succeed in seizing the throne.

And…while that would certainly lead to their own eventual fall and destruction, it would come at far too slow a pace for Hector's liking.

"Hector," purred Selene, running her hands up along his torso, using a spell to enhance the feelings of pleasure that this gave him as she did so. "You have been such a loyal friend to us. This information, which you have given us, is most pleasing. Come, fetch the wine that we have brought, so that we all may toast to our inevitable success."

Hector nodded dutifully and rose to get the small bottle of wine and the four goblets that rested in a small wicker basket which the Sisters had brought with them that also contained a little food for him that they knew very well he wasn't going to eat.

The basket lay beside his loincloth and archer's dagger. As he bent down to gather up the glasses and the wine, one of his stone-grey hands skilfully filched a small stone from one of the pouches attached to his belt. He quickly slipped the stone into his mouth and placed it under his tongue, before he gathered up the glasses and wine and walked over to the Wyrd Sisters, who had now gotten out of the pond and were approaching him seductively.

"Noble Hector," said Phoebe, stretching out her bare hands. "We must surely have tired you. Why not lie down now? Allow us to give you a drink of this fine wine."

Luna took the bottle from his hands while Selene and Phoebe came up on each side of him, taking the glasses from his hands and handing one to Luna before they gently took hold of him next and laid him down on his back. While they were doing this Luna had turned around for a second, turning her back to him and closing off his view of the glass and wine bottle. When she turned around again the glass was full with the deep red liquid.

"Drink," said the silver haired Sister, as she got down onto her knees and held the glass out to him. "Drink Hector. It is a good year. A gift from your friends."

Hector put his beaked lips to the glass as Luna tipped it slightly, and he drank it all down, pausing only for a second to allow the fine tasting drink to mix around with the stone in his mouth, before he swallowed, making sure that the stone did not go down his throat along with the wine. After a moment he let out a long, exhausted yawn.

"Forgive my manners my ladies," he said, making sure to blink several times and shake his head a little. "But…but I fear that you may have worn your servant out. I…I…feel…quite tired suddenly. Forgive me. I…I…"

And then, he closed his eyes and went limp, allowing his head to fall against Phoebe's bare breasts, as he started to breathe in slowly, giving the impression of being in a very, very deep sleep. As he lay still, he heard a frustrated sigh, before his head was laid down on the damp grass.

"Disgusting creature," he heard, growled just above him. He correctly guessed it was Selene. It was her turn to talk after all.

"Perverted scum." Phoebe. Most definitely Phoebe.

"Now, sisters." Luna. "He may be to our dislike, but he is of much use to us."

"Be that as it may." Selene. "The second his use is expired, I shall enjoy killing him."

"_We_ shall enjoy killing him." Phoebe.

"Now Sisters." Luna. "First to our plans. We must tell our ally about the spies the Queen has sent out into the mortal world. Come."

There was the sound of feet treading lightly on grass and then Hector heard chanting in a low, guttural tongue that he had never heard before, though as he heard the words he suddenly felt a surge of primal terror rise up from within him. It took all of his willpower to remain silent and still on the ground, for he knew that if he moved and one of the Sisters was watching, he was dead.

A strange scent suddenly filled Hector's nostrils as the low chanting continued. It was strong, but not wholly unpleasant. It reminded him of how some of the flowers that those two Incan gargoyles had brought from the Amazon smelled. He had been one of the ones to help carry the plants to an appropriate place for planting, and he had found some of their scents to be quite enticing.

The chanting stopped, and suddenly Hector had the feeling that something else was present, something of terrible, terrible power.

_"Why do you call me?"_ something hissed, its voice low and menacing. _"Have you no sense about you? Someone else could hear this!"_

"We know." Selene.

"So we will be brief." Phoebe.

_"What is _that_?"_

"Hector." Luna. "He is our spy in Titania's inner circle."

_"Are you sure he is asleep?"_

"Positive." Selene.

"We gave him enough sleeping potion to make him sleep the rest of the day." Phoebe.

_"Good. Be brief. I am not completely alone."_

The Sisters quickly relayed what Hector had told them, their companion remaining silent until they were finished.

"What should we do?" he heard Phoebe ask after a moment's silence.

"Nothing. If there is really only two or three Fey out there then I will handle them. We shall continue as planned. Continue what you are doing with Oberon and make sure to disrupt any plans that that meddling bitch of a Queen attempts. All will proceed according to plan. Don't contact me again. If all goes will we shall meet soon enough. Till then have patience…my loves."

The feeling of presence vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a small trace of the spicy scent in the air, which lingered only for a moment before a slight breeze carried it away. There was a long silence afterwards, before Luna took her turn to speak and break the silence.

"Well my sisters. We now know what is left to be done."

"Is it wise to trust him?" Selene. "He seeks power here."

"He is our best chance at overthrowing Oberon." Phoebe. "We three alone do not have the strength to fight Oberon, Titania and their followers. With his aide we shall overthrow them. And once they are out of our way my Sisters…"

"We shall…"

"…become…"

"…gods."

"In less than one more of our days." Selene. "All our planning shall come to fruition. Let us prepare my Sisters!"

"But what of Hector?" Phoebe.

"Leave him there." Luna. "He is of no consequence. He sleeps now, and will most likely sleep till the end of tomorrow."

"And by then the Queen shall be dead." Selene.

"Along with the King." Phoebe.

"And along with his disgusting kin." Luna.

"And soon to be followed by this lowly dog." Selene.

"Till then, let the fool sleep. Let him dream one last dream before he awakes and is greeted by a nightmare." Phoebe.

There was a sudden rush of wind, and Hector's eyelids turned red from a brief, fiery flash as he felt the Sisters cast a spell and disappear.

Hector lay still for a moment, allowing everything he had just heard to sink in.

So, not only were the Wyrd Sisters moving against Titania, they had actually acquired the help of a most powerful force from outside of Avalon to aid them. This was going to be bloody. Very, very bloody.

"Excellent," he purred, sitting up and stretching his arms and wings. By this time tomorrow, either Titania or the Sisters were going to be dead, and he hoped it would be Titania. With her dead, Avalon would fall into the chaos of a civil war. Oberon's opponents would seize this opportunity to depose him, while his supporters would be totally disorganised without the Queen to lead them. And so the Fey would probably end up destroying themselves.

He rose, removing the stone from his mouth as he did so. Titania had suggested that he search the Magus' rooms for magical artefacts that would aid him in his duties as a spy, and this stone was one of the objects he appropriated for his cause. He did not know the art of its making, or why it did what it did, but he knew it nullified all potions and poisons that could be laced in food or drink, as Titania had instructed him in the use of all the items he had stolen. Stuffing the stone into his belt pouch, he began to dress himself. His mind flashed back to what the Sisters had done to Aaron. His death suddenly made sense now. It must have been an act on the Sisters' part to prove their willingness to kill all on Avalon who still sided with the King and Queen. A blood sacrifice, to seal their pact with whatever abomination they had allied themselves to.

He didn't miss Aaron at all really. He and Aaron may have been lovers, but he at least, was never _in love_ with Aaron, and so his death really did not upset Hector all that much. He only fucked Aaron because no one else in the clan would have anything to do with either of the 'weaklings'. They had always been beaten and made fun of for being physically weaker than the rest of their kin. This was seen as some sign of inferiority, and he and Aaron were treated as such, Aaron because of his almost feminine disposition, Hector because of his complete lack of, as Princess Katherine put it, 'Christian Morality'. He found it amusing that she and the Guardian only seemed to care about Aaron once he was dead and could be used for their own agendas.

An incredibly evil grin spread across his beaked lips, as he realised that they were all probably going to be dead by this time tomorrow as well. This was easily turning into one of the best days of his life.

He walked up to the small patch of woods near the pond where Titania had violated him for the first time. From here on the hill he had a most picturesque view of a lot of the island, including the great castle with many stone gargoyles resting upon the walls of the keep and the main gate, which lay open, as it always did. He briefly thought about just what kind of force would arrive soon.

The castle itself, while looking formidable could, in fact, never really be held if a determined enemy laid siege to it. The walls were too low, while the outer wall could only boast twenty towers while the keep had too large a main gate and only a handful of towers, none of which were built with defence in mind. It was a fairy tale castle that he estimated could last only an hour or so if it were defended by anyone else but the Fey. And even then, he doubted that the conflict would only last a week at most, as this force the Sisters had called in probably held a great deal of magical power as well. Even the Third Race, for all their supposed power, could not work miracles.

There was only one thing about the whole situation that he found bothering. The Sisters had said something about becoming gods. What exactly did they mean by that?

Hector rubbed the edge of his beak thoughtfully. He couldn't understand just what the Sisters meant by that, though he suspected Titania might. The only question was whether he should bother telling Titania at all. He could easily leave this powder keg right now and avoid getting caught in the explosion when it all finally went up in flames.

So…why didn't he want to?

It was most definitely not due to any feelings of loyalty to anyone present on the island, nor was it caused by any actual desire to remain on the isle, which had been the only world he had known. He was genuinely tempted to stay and watch the island and everyone on it go up in smoke, but he knew that if he stayed to watch there was more than a good chance that he would be killed.

No…it was what the Sisters had said. And this was because, if what they sought could make them gods, then, just what might it do for Hector?

He leaned against a tree and stared out to the sea, crossing his arms over his unimpressive chest, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he breathed in the sea air. The Fey, for all their power, were quite stupid and arrogant. If what the Sisters sought was something that could be held or maybe read, then it was probably in the possession of Titania and Oberon. Since it would probably be considered dangerous they would have hidden it somewhere that they could have easy access to, or somewhere that they visited often. When taking their egos into mind, it was probably hidden a place that they'd also think was very, very clever of them, somewhere that would give them a chance to secretly laugh at anyone who sought that power. Somewhere right under everyone's' noses…

So…where on the island might that be?

He looked back down at the castle. There were a few other buildings on Avalon but the castle was the most obvious place, and so it would probably be hidden there. Being Titania's errand boy, he knew every inch of the castle, including all the secret passages that Titania and the Wyrd Sisters had shown him, which meant he could probably search the entire fortress without ever being noticed. Many of the Fey were probably wandering around the Eastern plains or playing tricks on each other near the mountains where the tomb of the Magus was. It was a rarity for many of them to spend much time within the castle's walls, and the few that did would probably keep themselves confined to the library or to their private chambers. Titania would be in her room, trying to decipher the next move of the Sisters of course. And should he run into her on his search he could always tell her that the Sisters had kidnapped him for information, and that he learned of their plans before he escaped from them. He knew _exactly_ where Oberon would be - in the chambers of the Wyrd Sisters. He awaited their return, as he always did, so that they could pleasure him and distract him from their plotting. As for the Princess and the Guardian…they'd most likely be in their own chambers together, as the day time was the only time that they could enjoy each others' company in private.

No one knew that the Sisters had broken his stone sleep; no one would have cared that they couldn't find his statue anywhere. That is, if they ever even bothered looking for it in the day.

He…he could do it. He could search the whole place out and never get caught. It might only take him a few hours. There weren't very many places that Titania and Oberon could have hidden whatever it was that the Sisters were looking for. He could find this…this source of power that the Sisters' were so desperate to have and take it for himself. He could even have left the island before all the fighting and confusion started. They'd never be able to catch him, as they'd have a war on their scheming little hands. He could leave Avalon and go far, far away, with what the Fey would gladly murder each other for. And then in time, it would be he, _Hector of Avalon_ that would become a god! And then, he would make _everyone_ pay…

He started down the hill, running, ignoring the protests of his thin, unfit body. For the first time in a long time, he forgot about his addiction, a rush of ambition that he'd thought he'd lost had overwhelmed it. He knew a secret door built into the western bulwark that he could use to gain access to the castle, and then he'd go through the entire castle like a breeze. No one would notice him; no one could stop him even if they did because he would die before he allowed anyone to rob him of this power, his one real chance for revenge, and Heaven help anyone who got in his way now.

dddbbb

"If he should die," whispered Gregor, his pit bull voice menacingly calm. "You're life will not be worth shit. Do you understand me _Ed_mund?"

The fat, clean-shaven Nosferatu nodded quickly, his fear of his master obvious in the way he looked over his shoulder as he turned about and dashed down the long, claustrophobic halls. The master had made sure to build a small medical centre so that his victims could be kept alive as long as possible, prolonging their agony and the master's pleasure. He didn't feel safe again until he knew Zaitsev's storm cloud grey eyes were no longer boring into him, and that wasn't until he finally slammed the door of the medical room and locked it tight. Zaitsev's gaze always seemed to follow his victims, even when they were no long in his sight.

"Trouble?" asked Riana. She had found the closet of clothes that Zaitsev had bought for her and had quickly dressed herself in an outfit more appropriate to her personality after she had a brief wash. From head to heel, she was skin-tight black leather and white silk, though the silk and leather admittedly covered very little of her frame. Her ash blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail while a pair of black sunglasses with silver rims concealed her light green eyes.

"They managed to revive that gargoyle," explained Zaitsev, turning to face her. "But they aren't sure that he'll last much longer."

"A pity," said Riana, coming closer. "I know how you love to play with your toys."

"Yes." Said Gregor, clearly frustrated. "I want him alive. I _need_ him alive. There's a bond between that one and the younger gargoyle I have downstairs. I can _feel_ it."

"Lovers?" asked Riana, suddenly very interested.

"I don't know," replied Gregor. "I don't care either. All that matters is that there is a bond there. I can hurt them better if there is a bond there. I'll cause them so much more anguish if they're both there to watch the other's agony."

"My, my," said Riana, taking another step closer to the oldest of all the Nosferatu. "I'd hate to be your enemy."

"Then don't ask to help me torture them."

"Oh but Gregor!"

"No!" snapped the vampire. "You want to torture somebody? The street is full of prey. Take your pick and go have some fun. Just remember that those two are _mine_. While you are under my roof it would be very much in your interests to search for your prey elsewhere."

"But they insulted me!" growled Riana.

"What has this got to do with me? I don't give a shit. It's your pride that was insulted, not mine," replied Zaitsev, already bored of the conversation. "They belong to me and no one else. You cannot touch them and if you try…well…I think you know me well enough to know what will happen…don't you?"

Riana said nothing. Instead she gave him a stare full of venom and stalked off somewhere. Zaitsev watched her till she was around a corner before heading to a door several yards away and to his left. He opened it and walked into a bedroom where the crimson gargoyle known as Brooklyn was resting on top of a bed. Furcifer was standing near him and looked over to his comrade.

"Hello Gregor."

Zaitsev stalked over to the bed where the unconscious gargoyle lay, ignoring his comrade's greeting. He stared at Brooklyn's unimpressive build and the black Sun staff, which lay at his side.

After a very long, uncomfortable moment of silence, Zaitsev said: "Furcifer, my old friend…is this a joke?"

"What do you mean?" replied the young, thin man in black.

"I mean," said Zaitsev, putting great emphasis on every word: "Is. This. A. Joke?"

"No," said Furcifer coldly, folding his arms and glaring at the vampire. "No Gregor. No it's not. He is the Anointed."

"Bullshit." Stated Zaitsev, looking Brooklyn over with his dark eyes. "That gargoyle I've got dying in the next room's more impressive than _this_. Just what the Hell is it that you're playing at?" Furcifer opened his mouth to say something but Zaitsev suddenly raised his arm and waved him off. "On second thought, I don't care. Just wake him up, get the gauntlets and get him out of my sight. He isn't even awake and already I grow weary of his presence."

"Riana believes that he's the one we're searching for," said Furcifer defensively.

"Riana has the brains of a rabid monkey," said Zaitsev bitterly. "Whether she really believes or not, this is just another excuse for her to indulge herself in some major bloodletting, so I fail to see the validity in mentioning her opinions here. I didn't say anything earlier because I was in her presence and I wasn't in the mood for an argument."

"Now Gregor…" started Furcifer, in as patient a tone as he could manage given the circumstances.

"Don't speak," growled the ancient Nosferatu suddenly, his pit bull voice imperious and laced with equal parts ice and venom. Furcifer gave him a look that would have killed lesser men, but Zaitsev wasn't even fazed. He continued without even looking at his colleague, instead keeping his eyes focused on the gargoyle lying on the bed. "You're up to something my old friend. I don't know what it is but I know that if this…fool gets his claws on the gauntlets, and I _know_ he will, then I shall find myself implicated in what ever it is that you are planning, even it is only in a minor role. And I will get punished for it." Finally, his grey eyes drifted up to look into Furcifer's black-green ones. "You've got some dirty little plot up your sleeve Furcifer, so there is only one question at this point that truly matters." He turned completely to face Furcifer; his massive body towering over his thinly built comrade. He smiled darkly as he asked the question which mattered, and that question was: "What, pray tell, is in it for me?"

Furcifer uncrossed his arms and looked over his old comrade warily. "I don't trust you Gregor."

"And I do not trust you," replied the vampire simply. "But, as you well know, I can be bribed. So you'll have to make my cooperation worth my while won't you?"

"I suppose so," admitted Furcifer. "However, I could always just destroy you. Then I wouldn't have to give you anything."

"And I actually thought that you had brains," scoffed Gregor. "If you laid a finger on me you'd be hunted down by all The Powers and you know it. If you want my cooperation and silence then you had better tell me what you are planning and what it is that you can offer me."

"You've put me in quite a position Gregor," said Furcifer, suddenly very cautious with his words.

"You put yourself in it," growled Zaitsev indignantly. "You were foolish enough to think that the passage of millennia has worn away at my mind as it has Riana and undoubtedly Jeremiah as well. But I think that you will find that I am as sharp as I ever was." Zaitsev suddenly took a menacing step forward, looming over him like an oncoming storm and, much to his own surprise, Furcifer suddenly found himself taking one step back. "Either you tell me what it is you're up to," hissed the vampire, "or I'll throw the lot of you out on your arses! Now tell me!"

Furcifer glared at him impotently for a moment while the only sound in the room in the otherwise charged silence was the slow, rhythmic breathing of Brooklyn. To the other two occupants in the room, this activity was more like a bad habit than a necessity.

"Very well," said Furcifer eventually. "I'll tell you what I'm doing, old friend, and then I'll tell you what you'll be getting if you help me." The mysterious thin man that always dressed in black then told the first of the Nosferatu what it was that had dwelled in his mind, occupying every open space and crack in his head until he could resist it no more.

What he told the first of the Nosferatu in that hushed tone in those few minutes amounted to something that was _supposed_ to be unthinkable but of course it wasn't. It was, when one such he considered the character of the man telling him these things, quite inevitable, though of course it didn't make it any less than madness. But the rewards if such a venture were successful…

Oh _yes_…the rewards did seem to outweigh all else in the equation…

And this is what Gregor told the tall, thin, stupid man in black, as he offered him his hand, swearing on all that he considered dear to him (which wasn't really that much) that he would do all he could to make this scheme work, in exchange for the rewards and a little help in the matter of a certain dying gargoyle, and total deniability should the scheme fail, an offer which the man in black accepted with glee.

"Now that this is all settled," smiled the vampire, "there is but one thing left for us to do."

"And what is that?" asked the man in black, smiling back.

They both looked down at the gargoyle resting on the bed simultaneously.

"Wake the stooge, of course."

dddbbb

There was a strange, grey haze hanging over him, like a huge, heavy blanket, encompassing everything. Everything seemed strange, like it was all set in slow motion. His mind, once sharp as a blade now felt dulled somehow. The cobwebs and the dust had returned, cluttering up everything. Slowing everything down.

Why…was…this…happening?

"We three, though born of different parents, and though being of different blood 

This…was…familiar…

_do swear here today, in the eyes of God_

God…

_an oath of brotherhood. _

He…could…remember…now…

To stand by each other's side, in times of both Darkness, and Light. 

He…loved…them…

To share each other's fate.

And…they…_loved_…_him_…too!

Be it Heaven 

Lexington…

_or Hell._

Broadway…

We three will go together. As brothers."

At this moment, at this precise moment it could have ended. The terrible, bloody consequences of what had started out from an immortal's wish to die and another's to gain power could have all ended at this exact moment. But, as this record shows, it didn't end there. For as Brooklyn Wyvern lay on the bed, slowly waking up as the drugs Demona shot into him drained suddenly, about to break free of a control he didn't know he was under, he, _himself_, chose to remember something else.

"Angela…will…will you…marry me?" 

They…abandoned…him…

_"I love you Alex."_

They…didn't…care…any…more...

They. Had. Found. Others.

They…_betrayed the oath_!

And so they were not his brothers anymore.

The haze and cobwebs suddenly vanished in an instant. Everything began to go at the proper pace. Brooklyn sat up and opened his eyes. They glowed pale blue.

"I will have my revenge on them all."

"Of course you will." Said a deep, pit bull voice. "That is why we are here, Anointed."

Brooklyn looked up and to his right. Furcifer was standing across the room, his arms folded, wearing his usual black and a proud smile. The other man in the room stood closer and was much more lavishly dressed in a pin strip black suit with a dark green mandarin shirt underneath. He was hugely built with very powerful shoulders while at the same time sporting a large potbelly. His head was fat, pale and shaved, while his eyes were a very foreboding dark grey. He held a large, ornately decorated box made of brass and polished rosewood in his leather gloved hands.

"Welcome back," smiled Furcifer.

"Who are you?" said Brooklyn, ignoring him.

"My name," said the well-dressed man with a flourish, "is Gregor Zaitsev." He made a quick little bow, a predatory smile on his face. "And I am your most obedient servant."

"Are you?" replied Brooklyn as he got up off of the bed, his voice loaded with bitter scepticism. He looked Zaitsev over; suddenly comprehending just how much bigger Zaitsev was than him. He tried his best to seem superior while still having to look up slightly at his face. There was a strange smell of his breath that reminded Brooklyn of hospitals for some reason. "And what exactly are you?"

"I am both Guardian of the Plague Gauntlets, and the first of all the Nosferatu," stated Zaitsev in a very matter of fact tone, obviously enjoying looking down on him. "I am the representative of The Grandfather in our little cadre."

"A vampire representing the Lord of Disease?" Asked Brooklyn, cocking an eyebrow.

"It sounds strange, I shall agree," explained Zaitsev in a patient tone. "But if you actually think about it a bit it does make some sense."

"Whatever," said Brooklyn. He took another step toward Zaitsev. "I'm here to lay claim to the weapon which has been entrusted to you by The Prince. Take me to where they are so I can contest for them."

"No." Said Zaitsev.

Brooklyn stared at him, momentarily shocked by such insolence, which he quickly recovered from. He took a step back and picked up the Black Sun with his left hand, his eyes still faintly glowing a pale blue as he stared at the vampire. "Could you say that again please? I don't think I heard you properly."

"You will not contest for the gauntlets," said Zaitsev, the smile on his cruel lips switching from predatory to something else that Brooklyn couldn't quite read.

"Why not?"

"Because," explained Zaitsev calmly. "I already _know_ that you are the Anointed."

Brooklyn stared at him for a brief moment. "Wha…_what_?"

"He said he already knows that you are the chosen one," said Furcifer suddenly, coming forward till he was beside Brooklyn. He put his gloved hand on the crimson gargoyle's shoulder encouragingly. "He feels so certain that you are the chosen of The Prince that it would only be a waste of time for you to contest for His weapons. Isn't that right Gregor?"

"Of course," said Zaitsev. One of his hands fell away from the side of the ornate box he was holding and flipped the brass latch on the top. He pulled off the top of the case and inside Brooklyn could see the Plague Gauntlets. Brooklyn stared at them for a few moments; in awe of the power he could feel emanating from them.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" said Furcifer.

Brooklyn tried to say something but found that he couldn't. Something…something was very wrong here…

Eventually he was able to look away from the carvings on the gauntlets and at that moment he found the strength to speak again.

"But," he started, "how am I suppose to control the daemon bound to them if I don't know its true name?"

"Its true name, is Zarr'yuuung'faa'dhao," said Zaitsev, using the tongue of the daemon. "With it your physical strength will be greater then even that of a Greater Daemon. You will be able to control all the diseases of the world and bend them to your will, and you shall be able to drain the very life and memories of _anything_ that breathes so long as you hold them in your grip." Zaitsev picked the right gauntlet up. The claws on the fingertips glittered in the light of the room. He held it out to Brooklyn. "Take it in your hand, speak its true name while focusing your mind, and then put it on."

Brooklyn nodded and put the Black Sun back on the bed. He took the gauntlet off Zaitsev and did as he said, speaking the true name of the daemon within the rusted, grimy looking metal while focusing all of his willpower on it. As he did this, the gauntlets began to change shape. The ring and little fingers of the gauntlets began to merge suddenly, until they became a single finger, while the other two fingers and thumb thickened in order to accommodate a gargoyle's fingers and talons. After a few moments the alterations were complete, and Brooklyn slid the gauntlet effortlessly onto his right hand, and as he did so he began to feel a strange feeling of numbness encompass his body, which grew stronger by the second before he felt a tidal wave of non-feeling hit him so hard it took his breath away and almost knocked him over. He tried to open his mouth to say something but then the feeling vanished, as if it had never been there to begin with. He looked around the room for a moment, bewildered.

"What the Hell just happened?" He asked.

"That was just your body accustoming itself to the gauntlets," explained Zaitsev patiently. "If you didn't know the true name of the daemon before you put that on then right now it would be feasting on you, bloating your entire body with disease in order to stop you from forcing it to reveal its true name to you."

"Sounds nasty."

Zaitsev nodded. "You would have developed boils the size of fists on every inch of your body that would have kept growing. Your weight would triple in a few seconds from the amount of puss that would develop in your veins. After about twenty minutes it would have all flowed to your mid-riff and after a couple of more minutes your belly would have split right open and all of your liquefied insides and a few hundreds pounds of puss would have spilled all over the carpet. _Then_, the daemon would have started eating you."

Brooklyn stared at him for a few minutes before he managed to say: "Charming. Can I have the other one now?"

"Of course," replied Zaitsev, taking the other gauntlet out of its case and giving it to him. Brooklyn noticed that it, too, had changed to accommodate his non-human hands.

Brooklyn put it on his left hand, opening and closing his hand into a fist a few times in order to get used to the odd feeling of moist warmth that these had inside. It was a little weird but he had a feeling he'd get used to it very quickly. He turned around and picked up the staff again, and then turned to face Furcifer and Zaitsev.

"Well," he said. "How do I look?"

"You almost look the part," smiled Furcifer. "But I think you'd look more intimidating if you didn't have that farm boy look. Tell you what, why don't you go with Gregor? He'll get you some clothes you might feel more comfortable in. Then you can get a shower and come down to the basement of this little house, where I'll join you after I deal with a small matter."

"What's down in the basement?" asked Brooklyn.

Furcifer and Zaitsev shared a dark, evil smile.

"A surprise that we think you'll enjoy," replied Zaitsev.

dddbbb

The first thing that she became aware of was the pain, which was sharp and unrelenting. It felt like someone had left several knives lodged in her belly, but as she grew more awake she was able to focus her will just enough to drive most of the pain away. The pain mostly banished, Dominique Destine opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings. She was tied to a steel chair by several strong, thick chains that were set in the middle of a large circular room. There was a single, naked light bulb hanging directly above her, which cast its harsh light down on her surroundings. She could make out shackles hanging from stonewalls and several more around the floor. There were a few chrome tables that held all sorts of devices of torture on them, along with a foldable table with steel clamps leaning against the wall. A wooden chair was leaning beside the shut door, which glimmered like armoured plate. The scents of dried blood, decay, daemonic spice, and hospital disinfectant filled the room and her nose.

She groaned, still feeling groggy.

What the Hell had happened? The last thing that she remembered was fighting the Nosferatu that had attacked her and her clan. And then…something had attacked her from behind. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts but all she could remember after that was a man in black and the strange dream she had about Broadway.

Broadway…

"Oh God," she muttered into the air. What had happened to him? What had happened to Goliath and Lexington and the others? She tried to struggle in her bonds but after testing them all for weaknesses she doubted she could have even broken out of them if she were a gargoyle. Her head still wasn't clear enough for her to try using magic to free herself. "Dammit."

She spent several more minutes trying to free herself, regardless of the strength of her chains, until after a few moments, the door opened…

…and Brooklyn walked in.

"Hello Demona," he said, a sadistic grin on his beak.

Demona stopped her struggles and glared at the crimson gargoyle as he walked in and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in black from head to clawed toe. The daemonstaff she had seen him wield earlier hung off of his back via a leather harness off of his floor length leather coat. On the belt of his pants hung several knives and clip pouches, while he had two matte black Desert Eagle pistols hanging from shoulder holsters. A katana with a black and white handle and a silver hand guard also hung off of his belt. Rusted gauntlets with wicked fingertip hooks decorated his hands, while an amber pendant swung from a silver chain around his neck.

"You're looking good," he smiled, circling her. The business suit that she had worn the previous day was now in tatters from her transformations. "It's funny," said Brooklyn mockingly. "But I can't help but shake this feeling of déjà vu. Can you feel it Demms?"

"Don't call me that," growled Demona.

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I want," replied Brooklyn, his voice unusually calm. He strode over to the other chair leaning against the wall and picked it up. He turned about and brought it over to sit in front of the gargess-turned-human, and swung it around so that the back of the chair was facing her. He sat down and crossed his arms over the top of the chair's back and gave her a sly smile.

A few moments of tense silence passed before Brooklyn broke it.

"You know what Demona? Before the massacre, I had the _biggest_ crush on you." He gave a smile. "But then again, so did just about every other male in the castle. That must have been a pretty cool feeling. Knowing that most of the single males and even probably a lot of the ones who were spoken for jerked off while thinking about you. We all thought Goliath was the luckiest guy on earth." The smile vanished, replaced by the now familiar look of hatred. The amber jewel glowed faintly as his eyes filled with a faint but eerie blue radiance that only amplified the hate she could see within. "To learn that it was you that caused the massacre came as a pretty big shock to me. But…even then, I think I still had that crush on you." His eyes flared fully, at last. "So…when you…_betrayed me_…that…left a pit deep inside of me." His flaring blue eyes looked directly into her sea green ones. Demona stared back defiantly. "And when I thought you had finally died, and…I was…banished…for my part in your killing. I still felt…empty."

Brooklyn shifted in his chair a little and looked down at the floor between his taloned feet. "It took me ages to figure out why I still felt that empty pit in me, though why it took me so long is something I'll never know, considering the reason was so obvious."

"And what, pray tell, was the reason?" asked Demona sarcastically.

Brooklyn glared at her hatefully and in a single, fluid motion, he drew one of his Desert Eagles and pointed the pistol right in her face. If common sense had not intervened at that moment, he would have fired, killing both Demona and himself. He stopped himself from pulling the trigger, barely. The powerful handgun stayed out though, the end of the barrel barely and inch from Demona's face, the arm and hand holding it trembling with rage.

Demona gave him a very smug look. "Go ahead Brooklyn," she teased. "Go ahead and pull the trigger. You want me dead don't you? Well here I am. You'll never get a better opportunity than this to have your revenge, so why not take it?" She leaned forward as far as she could, until the gun was pressed tightly against her forehead. "Go ahead. _Pull the trigger_. Fire. _Kill me_. What's holding you back? Is it fear? It's fear isn't it?" The smile on her face grew and her tone became mocking.

"Are you afraid of death Brooklyn?"

Every inch of the crimson gargoyle shuddered with the amount of hatred driven rage that was passing through his veins. His finger wrapped tightly around the trigger and for a moment Demona really did believe that both of them were about to die. What amazed her in that moment was that she did not feel fear, as she had felt the first time, when Macbeth had plunged the poison laden syringe into her arm all those months ago. This time she felt something completely different.

She felt relief…

"No," hissed Brooklyn, snapping Demona out of her thoughts. "No Demona. I won't let you off with a quick death." He shook his head while putting his pistol back in his holster, a simple movement that seemed to require every ounce of physical strength he had. "I won't kill you now because to kill you means that both you and that fucker Oberon win. Not until he is in his grave and the servants of The Prince are running amuck on this world will I even consider killing you." He looked up at her and gave her a genuinely evil smile. "You see…the reason that I felt so empty after your death before was that you didn't suffer enough before you died. Sure I may have beaten you up a little but that's all I was able to do before those two traitors pulled me off of you. You didn't suffer enough to justify my banishment, or to appease my hate."

Brooklyn stood up suddenly. He picked the chair up casually in one hand and tossed it away from him, all the while maintaining that dark, sadistic grin of his. "And when I say I want you to suffer, I don't mean by the typical physical crap, because that just means that I'll hurt myself in the process and so where would the sense in that be?" He took a step back from her, pulling his daemonstaff from the harness on his back. The runes along the shaft glowed as he held it. "You see, ever since I heard Oberon cast the spell over us, I've been thinking about the words he used every single day since then."

Running this fingers absentmindedly along the shaft of the daemonstaff in his hands, he repeated the words now that Demona never heard.

_"The Lord of Avalon himself decrees,_

_That both shall live eternally, _

_Sharing each other's pain and suffering. _

_Neither of you shall ever die until one doth kill the other, _

_Whereby both your lives are forfeit."_

"That's what he said," sighed Brooklyn, looking at the floor. "Word perfect, that's what the bastard said. And I've been thinking about those words now for quite some time." He looked directly at her now. The glow in his eyes had stopped and for the first time since he had come in Demona could see his hazel eyes clearly. In them only hate seemed to exist. She briefly wondered how long his sanity had held after she had tricked him into betraying Goliath, and how long it took before his hatred of her became a Hunter-like, all-consuming obsession. Brooklyn turned away from her and started to casually stroll from one side of the room to the other and back again, holding the daemonstaff lightly in his right hand.

"As both you and I know Demona, the terms of a spell can _very_ specific about their conditions. The more powerful the caster the more precise conditions they can place on their spells and curses. And so I've been wondering…" he stopped, trailing off, looking at part of the wall like it held something of import. He turned around and faced her, a dark smile slowly spreading across his beak as he spoke again.

"Just what kind of 'pain and suffering' do you think Oberon was talking about?"

Demona opened her mouth to speak, to insult, to tease and potentially drive Brooklyn into doing something stupid because she had already grown weary of his smug voice. But before the first syllable had even formed in her mouth…Brooklyn raised his staff and in the same instant the jewel hanging around his neck and his eyes burst into flame and as the air suddenly became with the enticing spicy scent of the daemon Demona found herself hit, not by pain of the physical nature…

…but by pleasure.

She let out a small gasp of pleasure before she could get control of herself. She looked over at Brooklyn as the pleasure became even greater in intensity, and saw his grin become sadistic.

"How does it feel whore?" he hissed, the entire length of his daemonstaff shuddering in his gauntleted hands, while strands of pale blue and black flames raced up and along its rune-encrusted shell. Brooklyn spoke a word of power and suddenly Demona let out a moan as she reached climax.

"It's funny, I had a feeling that we could only experience each other _physical_ suffering. I knew Oberon was simply too stupid to have thought that suffering is anything more than from physical pain." He paused in his speech to hear her groan as she reached climax again. "If it had been the Sisters themselves casting it as they did with you and Macbeth before, I daresay I would probably be feeling this too." He leaned forward as Demona started to writhe unconsciously, uselessly, against her bonds, all the while Brooklyn continued weaving the spell that activated all her pleasure centres, pushing her further and further over the edge towards physical and psychological dependence as he continued this magical rape of her.

Brooklyn laughed as Demona let out a roar as she climaxed yet again. "What's the matter Demms? You don't seem to be enjoying this all that much. I'll tell you what, why don't you pretend it's Goliath giving you this? That might help." He let out a long, sadistic laugh as he raised the staff and pushed the spell to the next stage, literally bringing her within moments of becoming a pleasure addict.

And then, just when she was about to cross the bounds, Brooklyn raised his free hand, spoke a word of power in the daemon's tongue, and stopped the spell.

Demona slumped back in her chair, trembling with exhaustion. Her clothes were drenched in sweat and clinging to her and her throat had become bone dry in an instant. Otherwise Brooklyn imagined that she would have spat on him. Her head was pressed against her chest, her eyes closed, her breathing was short but laboured, and her pale, human face had become a fiery red. He fancied that she was trying to stop herself from crying, and that pleased him more than anything else. He would have sold his soul just to see her weep…

But she didn't, much to his disappointment. He leaned forward and over her, raising her chin with his left hand until he was looking into her face and he said, snidely, still grinning sadistically: "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

But nothing. An anticlimax, to what had been a truly marvellous experience. Demona remained silent. She kept her eyes shut and for reasons he couldn't as yet understand Brooklyn suddenly didn't want to be in the same room with her anymore. He didn't want to make snide remarks; he didn't want to start over again with the magical violation…

…he didn't even want to see if she would lose her cool and start crying because of his violation of her. He had no desire at all to enjoy the victory he had scored over her. The closest thing to a real victory that he had _ever_ really won against her.

Instead, the pit of emptiness that had rested in his belly since that night at the Cloisters all those years ago had grown to the point where it could have swallowed worlds whole in a matter of moments. He couldn't understand.

_-Why am I not enjoying this- _

She was at his mercy.

"I had the biggest crush on you."

He could hurt her in whatever way he wanted now.

_-Why am I not enjoying this-_

He had won…hadn't he?

"I banish you, now and forever from our clan."

It was worth it…

_-Why am I not enjoying this-_

…wasn't it?

"Don't do this Brooklyn! We're friends for Christ's sake!" 

He didn't…let…anyone…get in his way.

_-Why am I not enjoying this-_

He proved he didn't need any of his false friends.

"We're here for you Brook. You just have to give us a chance."

That…made him strong…

_-Why am I not enjoying this-_

…didn't it?

"You guys don't have to do this just to make me feel better."

Then why

"We know."

did he not

"But we want to."

feel any

"You're not as alone as you thought, huh?" 

better?

_-WHY AM I NOT ENJOYING THIS-_

He suddenly stumbled backwards. His legs had become planks. Stiff, unfeeling, immobile, useless. He struggled for balance and fell back against a wall, hyperventilating, his back ice cold from the thick sheet of sweat that had appeared there in an instant, hands trembling, legs still wooden, his tail a dead snake, weeping uncontrollably and yet he still could not comprehend…

_-…whyamInotenjoyingthiswhyamInotenjoyingthiswhyamInotenjoyingthis…-_

"I…" he stammered, trailed off, tried to start again, failed, tried again after he let out a sob. "I…know…a…a…"

He stopped, not sure what he was saying or even sure why he was saying anything in the first place. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted out of this room right now. He wanted out of this room he wanted out of this country he wanted to go far away and hide somewhere deep and dark and never ever come out again because right now at this exact moment it occurred to him that loosing his oath brothers and his friends and his clan and every single thing in this world that he held dear and would have died to protect just so he could stand here stammering like an idiot after he finally scored a meaningless victory over someone he hated but everyone else now cared about was._ NOT. WORTH. IT_.

_-…why…-_

The empty pit in his belly could now have swallowed all in Creation.

He slid stiffly along the wall, sobbing and muttering a string of incoherent babble over again and over again as he reached the door and flung it openly roughly and staggered outside. He started running down the hall, stumbling and nearly falling once, twice, three times in total before he did fall and landed on his face and started screaming as he got up again and ran the last few feet to the door of the elevator, hitting the keypad hard and not caring if it broke and not noticing a baffled Nosferatu female standing guard by Malibu's cell staring at him in shock as he ran past her. When the door slid open he leapt in and hit the first button he saw, and as the doors closed and the lift started up Brooklyn Wyvern collapsed on the floor and began to sob uncontrollably.

Back in the cell, Demona finally looked up after she was sure Brooklyn was gone. She was exhausted, at the very end of her tether. She didn't even have the strength to resist the two Nosferatu who came in after what could have been ten minutes or ten hours, she wasn't sure, and untied her and between them picked her up and took her out onto the hallway. They walked past the female guard who looked at her before she opened the cell next to the one she was obviously standing guard at and then the two vampires holding her dropped her on the bed and left. The door closed and there was the distinct _clank_ of a bolt being drawn and the _click_ of keys being twisted in a lock, which was followed by the echo of footsteps and a conversation (in what? Russian? Yiddish? Georgian? German?) which then faded away eventually.

She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was white and had a light bulb hanging from it whose light was very harsh and yet it didn't seem to affect her eyes. Her arms were by her sides and she was lying on her back looking up at the white ceiling. Her legs were stained and her clothes were torn and clinging to her and smelled vile and her arms were by her sides as she lay on her back and stared up at the white ceiling that had a light bulb hanging from it. Her lip trembled, and then she spoke, not to herself or the guard outside or to anyone else who did or had once existed. She just said it because thinking it over was no longer necessary. When she opened her mouth to speak these words she said them in a flawless monotone and the words were…

"I am going to kill him."

And with these words said, she still did not cry because then he really would have won. Instead, she lay still and waited patiently for her strength to return. She would have need of it for the bloodbath that she was already planning when she escaped.

dddbbb

Furcifer stood over the bed Fang lay on in the small infirmary that Gregor had built into his underground lair. He looked down at the cougar mutate and cursed under his breath.

It would be so easy, so very easy to just reach down and snap this fool's neck, or even just leave and let the injuries he'd sustained claim his life. He sighed impotently.

But if he did, he risked facing Gregor's wrath, and, even though he was fairly certain that he wasn't afraid of Gregor, he knew that if he crossed the first of all Nosferatu that he would be in very, very great trouble. And that could cost him everything he had worked so hard to accomplish.

The sheet covered what little of him wasn't already covered with crisscrossing white bandages. There were a few tubes whose purpose Furcifer didn't understand or care about coming out of his arms while a breathing mask had been placed over his muzzle-like mouth.

From what Jeremiah had told him, Fang had beaten the living daylights out of Brooklyn. The only reason he was like this was because Brooklyn fried him with a daemonic blast. But that was not Jeremiah had told him that really bothered the tall, black clad man…

It was what he had been told about their other encounter with another inquisitor that Riana had had some contact with a few years ago. A madman of incredible power and talent in the arts of the daemonic whose name was Harrison…

Apparently he had given Brooklyn an even greater thrashing than Fang had, and had really come within inches of bringing the whole scheme to an end before it could even properly begin, and yet Furcifer hadn't even heard of him up until now.

Who was he? How close was he from tracking Brooklyn down again? And just how much power did he possess? These were some of the questions that were racing through Furcifer's mind as he stood over the dying mutate, his gloved hands clenching into fists and then unclenching again automatically. Before he had heard of this Harrison, there was no way in Hell that he would have allowed Gregor to stay behind, even if he hadn't figured out what he had been up to. But now, it seemed as if he had no choice. If Harrison could find Brooklyn in the middle of sparse plains, how long could it take him to follow the trail to this place?

No, it would be wise to let Zaitsev and his retinue remain and wait, in case Harrison did show up. If they were here to meet him then they would deal with this mad Inquisitor and after they took care of him they could follow them to the ancient fortress that rested in the mountains of Kirghizia. The representative of the Lord Khorne, the last and most bloodthirsty of all the guardians, called the little backwater fortress home. The last of the weapons lay in his possession, in the hands of the Daemon known as Cruor Vult.

Fang groaned. Furcifer snapped out of his train of thought and looked down again at the dying mutate.

Yes…it would be wise to keep him alive. To keep Gregor happy, and therefore, loyal. Until he was of no more use to him, of course…

He quickly took his gloves off and raised them over Fang as he lay sleeping. Furcifer began to chant in the tongue of the daemon, while the whites of his eyes became black.

Fang groaned in pain again, his head turning restlessly on his single pillow as his body began to shake involuntarily. A black aura began to envelope his body, and as it quickly spread, his wounds began to heal rapidly. Cuts closed up, bones repositioned themselves and melded together again, burns and scars vanished and even the burned fur on his belly and chest became healthy again. His breathing came normally, and Furcifer quickly removed the respirator from his mouth, followed a second later by the tubes. He looked at his handiwork over. Fang was now sleeping peacefully. Healed, but drained completely of his strength.

"He better go light on him for the first night or two," muttered Furcifer to no one in particular. "Otherwise he still might not survive."

"Don't worry," said a voice from behind. "He will."

"Gregor," said Furcifer casually as he turned and nodded to the vampire. Gregor returned the nod.

"Thank you," he said, coming over and looking at his black clad comrade's handiwork. "Excellent job. I'll have Edmund and Xander move him down to the room to rest beside his friend until the sun sets."

"Did Jeremiah and Riana tell you about this Harrison?"

"Yes. I'll stay behind for five days and see if he comes. If he does, I shall deal with him and anyone else that shows up." He looked over at Furcifer. "What about the gargoyles that got away?"

"Hunt them if you wish," said Furcifer. "I don't really care about them. They aren't a threat. The only ones I believe that could be are our captives."

"It's a waste of my time to hunt such insignificant vermin," said Gregor. "When you consider that I have two very fine specimens to play with here." He rubbed his double-chin. "You must know something of them Furcifer. Will they come to try and rescue their comrades?"

"Without a doubt," replied Furcifer. "One of them followed us."

"I know," said Zaitsev. "I just wanted to know if they were foolish enough to try something. If you're right then they will come to me sooner or later. I'll just post snipers on the roof to keep watch for them. When they get close enough they'll all be shot out of the sky. Any males that survive will get to join the two I'll be having fun with in the bottom level."

There was a sudden ringing. Furcifer looked around for a moment, confused, before Zaitsev pulled a mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it on.

"Yes? What is it Tanya?" His eyes widened as Tanya, the guard in front of Malibu's cell, told him of what she had seen when Brooklyn came out of his session with Demona. Zaitsev nodded and shut the phone off without even acknowledging her.

"What's the matter?" asked Furcifer.

Zaitsev glared daggers at him.

"Your plan just went down the fucking toilet! That's what!"

"What do you mean?" asked Furcifer, looking stunned.

Zaitsev stuffed his phone back in his jacket. "Your so called 'Anointed', just broke free of the spell you had over him."

"WHAT?" 

dddbbb

A memory.

_Coughing uncontrollably as he staggered along the courtyard, having to lean against the wall as he went, the crowd standing there of both human and gargoyles parting as he approached like the waves did for Moses. His arms wrapped around himself, shivering with cold. The world, spinning. The pains in his chest becoming so great that he couldn't even breathe anymore. He cried for help but no one came near him, terrified of getting infected too. He fell on his knees. He coughed up more of his own blood. He was crying. The world started spinning the other way. Shadows started to cover everything. The crowd became a blur as the ground rushed up to meet him. Then darkness…_

Stop, and imagine a world where someone is truly grateful for something.

_…which faded. Chased away by orange light and heat. Something soft and warm covering him. The sound of gulls and waves and the sharp smell of salt and something nice cooking in the air that made his stomach growl loudly. He could feel his wings under him and wrapped around him under the blankets. His head rested on something soft but he didn't think it was a pillow. The heat was to his right and he opened his eyes and saw the stinging light of the fire and the fish being cooked over them, hanging from a stick and holding that stick was Broadway, sitting cross-legged in front of it, humming something. Lexington was a bit further off, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the cave and asking Broadway every ten seconds if the fish were ready yet. _

_He had coughed, or groaned, or asked if he could have some fish too, he couldn't remember. But he knew he had made a sound because they both suddenly snapped to attention and looked over at where he lay, and in the same instant both of their faces had lit up. They had both risen and rushed over to him in an instant they were kneeling by his side, asking him different questions at the same time and so quickly every word that came out of their mouths seemed utterly foreign to him. _

_He had tried to sit up but found he barely even had the strength to lift his head up. Broadway and Lexington had to lean right over him to hear what he was saying. His head was pounding but he insisted he was fine and asked what had happened._

_He'd collapsed, shivering in the courtyard and not even the castle doctor would go near him for fear it was the Plague. Ignoring all calls and threats they'd picked him up themselves and had taken him to the caves on the cliffs half a mile away. Broadway stole blankets from the castle while Lexington fished in the sea and even hunted in the woods with a short bow and a quiver of arrows that had appeared in front of their cave the night after they'd taken him here to heal. That had been nearly a week and a half ago. His fever had only broken the previous day. It had been so bad that he had been unconscious even after breaking out of the stone sleep and yet…_

The floor beneath him suddenly lurched as the lift came to a stop and the doors slid open silently. A shadow fell on him. Brooklyn looked up, no longer in control of himself as he wept silently, curled in a ball, leaning against on of the lift's corners.

Furcifer towered over him, tall and dark like a monolith, his face a blank mask of malevolence, his body shuddering with incalculable, unholy power, the whites of his eyes now black.

"St…stay away from me," stuttered Brooklyn, terrified. "I…I don't want this anymore!"

Furcifer stalked silently towards him, staring down at him with those terrible eyes. Zaitsev came up to stand behind him, watching the scene impassively, arms lazily held behind his back.

"Your influence has faded," stated the vampire, casually, obviously. "But then again…I suppose subtle suggestion was never really your forte."

"That's the problem with Free Will." Said Furcifer bitterly, looking down upon his puppet. "It's so hard to take it away from someone, and then expect them to act as if they still had it, and even then you cannot guarantee that you can keep them under your control without looking suspicious. The influence can always fade. It can make them do very stupid things sometimes." He leaned down and grabbed Brooklyn's head with both hands and raised him up above him as if he weighed nothing. Brooklyn tried to struggle but his mind was too scattered to form any spells of even raise his arms to defend himself. "Look into my eyes Brooklyn." Said the thin, cruel man in black. "Do it now or I'll start breaking your fingers."

"N…no," whispered Brooklyn, crying, already lost and defeated. "Please…please…I…"

Furcifer brought him down again and held the crimson gargoyle's face before his own. His eyes were nothing now but pitiless black orbs. _"Look into my eyes fool."_

All strength in his body lost, so that he hung limply in the air, Brooklyn did so, and as he did his eyes widened and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

From a door down at the very end of the corridor which was opened just a crack, out of sight and unnoticed thanks to a spell, Rincewald watched the whole scene in grave silence.

"I knew it."

dddbbb

Riana was in the storeroom. It was located on the level immediately above the cells and was the single largest rooms in the entire underground complex. Though low-ceilinged, the square room was cavernous in its other dimensions. Along all the walls hung sniper rifles, assault rifles, machine guns, pistols, sub machine guns, crossbows and grenade launchers from every make and country, all of it exquisitely maintained. Wood and glass cabinets covered most of one wall, all full to the brim with ammunition. Grenades of all sizes and explosive yields hung from webs near the doors. Hand-to-hand weapons of every style imaginable decorated racks running through the centre of the room. Axes, knives, swords, chainsaws, spears, halberds, glaives, whips, maces, warhammers, flails, steel claws, spiked gauntlets, brass knuckles, spiked shields of many shapes and sizes…

The wall that was farthest from the panelled ebony double doors had been converted into an all-purpose workshop. Electronic equipment, metal working gear, drills and sewing machines lined the oak tables. In one corner hung a dozen or so designer suits, their jackets and pants laced with Kevlar so thick it could stand up to high-powered rifle shots. In the other corner opposite it, one of Gregor's stooges whose name escaped Riana was busy drilling silencer holes into the barrel of her new magnum revolver, the sound of the drill eating its way through the steel barrel was the only sound in the whole room. It echoed off the walls as the Guardian looked at all her surrounding, a devilish grin spreading across her deceptively innocent face.

"Time for some shopping!"

She went immediately to the section of the wall where pistols hung from their hooks and quickly selected a Glock with a silencer, dumping the pistol into a black rucksack she had brought with her. She rummaged through the ammunition cabinets to get ten clips and several boxes of 9mm rounds and a shoulder holster. That done, she went over to the racks of weapons in the middle of the room. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for: a set of four matching throwing knives, three long, needle-like stabbing daggers, a huge, serrated Kukri knife, a small, spiked cat-o-nine-tails, and a six foot long leather whip. After she had gotten her hands on the appropriate harnesses for these weapons and shoved them in her bag, she turned about to leave…

…only to find that Jeremiah Rincewald had silently appeared three feet behind her.

"Jerry!" Riana snapped, surprised at the necromancer's stealth. "Where the fuck did you come from!"

"I think, Riana," began Rincewald, his voice calm but uncharacteristically menacing, "that we may need to talk."

"About what?" growled the blonde female, not interested in the slightest in what the necromancer had to say.

"I think," started Rincewald, calmly moving over to the wall with the guns, inspecting them absentmindedly, "that something may be, how shall I put it? Uh…_wrong_, with this whole situation."

"Not this again," sighed Riana. She started walking over to the doors. "I'll see you later Jerry."

"Furcifer's controlling Brooklyn," said Rincewald calmly, picking up a Colt revolver and placing it in the jacket pocket of his new, light grey suit with its dark green tie and matching light grey hat. It was followed by a 9mm Micro-Uzi. "He's been controlling him through the _Malus Codicium_ and through subtle suggestion that I would have noticed earlier if he'd stayed with us. He's now using both the Conscience around Brooklyn's neck and the book as the main conductors."

"Sure he is Jerry," said Riana sarcastically, having reached the door.

"Just wanted to make sure you knew," called Rincewald after her, eyeing the grenade webs.

The door slammed as Riana made her exit.

"Just so I can cover myself when it starts getting messy," whispered the ancient Necromancer to himself, smiling. He turned around and looked at the female Nosferatu drilling holes into the barrel of the magnum. He banged the steel tip of his raven headed cane on the smooth, black-varnished floor to get her attention. "Excuse me madam! But where can I find the ammunition?"

dddbbb

He stirred.

Before, there had been only terrible pain. So much so that it had been almost impossible for him to keep breathing. Everything before the pain had been merely a blur. A terrible weight on his chest that grew heavier with every breath he had taken had now vanished. Slowly lifted from him as he floated in the darkness. He had never dreamed, not even as a child. But for that moment, as the heavy pain was lifted, he fancied he felt hands touch him. Though their movement was gentle, he could feel the malevolence that controlled them and he felt fear but then that vanished too, and he was left alone then for what seemed like an age…

"Fang." 

The voice seemed to come from a million miles away, calling his name, urging him to come closer, snapping him out of his thoughts...

"Wake up."

He felt feeling slowly seep its way back into his body. He groaned. He'd never felt so weak before in his life. His chest felt odd and head became light and the lids of his eyes were weighed down by what felt like a thousand pound dumbbell, but from behind them his eyes could feel brutal, burning light which lit his lids red. His limbs felt empty, devoid of any strength at all. Something hard and uncomfortable was under his head, holding it up at an angle. The air felt cold through his nose and all he wanted to do was sink back into his slumber and rest some more. But the voice wouldn't let him.

"Fang. Come on. Wake up. Please."

That voice. It sounded so familiar.

"Wake up. Please."

He felt a hand resting on his chest, nudging him gently, and all the while the voice he knew kept pleading for him to open his eyes. He started to will it to go away, desperate for more rest, for time to gather his strength. But then he finally recognised the owner of the voice.

Mal…

And a rush of memories came upon him. The mall. Brooklyn appearing out of no where, nearly killing them and then the fight that followed. The wail of police sirens. Grabbing the gun and pointing it at Brooklyn before the eye sockets in the skull on the top of that bastard's staff suddenly glowed blue and then…

…he couldn't remember the rest. It was all a blur of spinning images and a cavalcade of sounds that he couldn't separate from each other.

"Come on Fang. Wake up."

Mal's voice called out to him again. He sounded afraid. What if something had happened? What if he was hurt? If that fucking coward had so much as laid a finger on Mal again…

Rage and adrenaline started running through his veins as he thought of those deep, terrible scars on Mal's face and belly that Brooklyn had given him. Of the way that he would walk with a limp for the rest of his life thanks to Brooklyn's torture.

_-If Brooklyn's touched him he's dead.-_

In an instant all his strength seemed to return to him, and his eyes shot open as he sprang up into a sitting position…

…only to head butt Malibu as he leaned over him.

dddbbb

"Drive them to the train station," said Zaitsev coldly, clearly irritated. "There's a flight to Bishkik from Moscow leaving in six hours. If there's no train going there when you get there then hijack one if you have to. The next flight to that shit hole after that's three days from now and I'll be damned if they stay here another second longer than they have to. Do you understand me Xander?"

"Absolutely Master," replied Xander, slipping his sunglasses on. They were standing on the ground floor of the warehouse complex. Their cabal's intimidating black limousine was standing at the ready, with Katrina, her shattered nose now nearly fully healed after a feeding frenzy on a random person on the street, standing rigidly next to them, her blades hidden under her floor length, mink lined black coat, standing just a few feet from them. "We'll be back in an hour's time."

"What do we do if we encounter the remaining gargoyles?" asked Katrina suddenly, cold fury underlining her every word. The defeat that she had suffered at the claws of the lavender brute the other night was still very fresh in her mind, and she craved for another chance to fight him.

"Get Furcifer and the others to where they have to go as quickly as possible so they don't miss their flight," replied Zaitsev, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, clearly enraged about something. "Then kill them. Remember, getting our guests where they need to go is the priority. Take any steps you deem necessary to do this."

"Yes Master," both Xander and Katrina chorused together.

"Now," growled Zaitsev, turning about, his storm cloud grey eyes glancing over at the freight elevator impatiently. "Where the Hell are those damned idiots? I have guests waiting downstairs."

As if to answer the ancient Nosferatu, the elevator seemed to suddenly spring into life. A deep humming sound came from it as the lift finally began to ascend up to ground level. Old, rusting metal scraped roughly against yet more rusted metal, creating an ear piercing screech after a few seconds as the lift's speed increased. Zaitsev never had it fixed. He liked the way it reminded him of real screams.

After another moment the lift had risen to ground level and had come to a complete stop, revealing seven figures. Three of Zaitsev's servants, Edmund, Tanya and Philip, each wielding high-powered sniper rifles, each equipped with custom made night scopes, appeared. They also wore their standard small arms along with these formidable weapons. They left the lift first, followed immediately by Riana, Rincewald, Furcifer and then finally Brooklyn.

"Get on the roof and keep an eye out for any gargoyles," ordered Gregor as the trio of Nosferatu came near. "If you spot any, gun them down." The trio nodded and headed for the open stairs that led to the roof access. After they were heading away he turned his attention back to the others. "Is everybody ready?"

"Oh yeah!" grinned Riana enthusiastically. "I can't wait to see Cruor again! We had some good times!" She had a rucksack hanging over her shoulder which held most of the weapons and clothes she had taken from Gregor's stocks, while the pistol and whip hung from her belt, hidden under a knee-length black leather coat. She headed quickly over to the limo. Rincewald headed to the limo after her, giving Zaitsev a look that the Nosferatu couldn't interpret as he passed silently by, his familiar sticking its head out of his jacket pocket and a bag full of clothes hanging over his shoulder. Furcifer and he exchanged understanding smiles and nods as the thin man in black got in next.

Zaitsev turned and looked over as Brooklyn approached him last. "Well my friend, how are you feeling?"

Brooklyn had become human again, though he still wore the same style of clothes. Over his shoulder hung the special travel bags containing the Black Sun daemonstaff, a katana and the Plague Gauntlets and his other weapons, along with clothes modified so as to be worn by a gargoyle. The chain holding the Conscience was still around his neck, though no one could see the amber jewel under his shirt and t-shirt glowing permanently now. There was something odd about the look in his hazel eyes that Xander, still standing in his place, was deeply disturbed by. Where there had been dark, vengeful fire before there now only seemed to be glacial ice.

"I'm fine," said Brooklyn as he walked past Zaitsev. "Make sure you make those two traitors down there suffer before they die, but leave the woman. She's mine."

"I understand," said Zaitsev, all the tension in his body language suddenly vanishing. "Believe me when I say, that they will regret ever coming after you."

"That will do. Goodbye Gregor."

"Goodbye, Anointed."

A moment later Brooklyn had disappeared into the back of the limousine and slammed the door shut. Katrina quickly walked over to the other side of the car and got into the passenger seat beside the driver, where a semi-automatic combat shotgun was lying primed under the seat, in the event of winged intervention.

As she shut her door Zaitsev cast his grey eyes back towards Xander, who flinched because of the threatening look in his master's eyes. They were warning him to keep quiet. "Get going Xander. Take care of them. Let nothing stand in your way. When you are done, come back here at once and take command. I shall be…diverted, for the next few hours so I shall need you to keep a close watch for the other gargoyles if they should come tonight, though it's doubtful due to the weather. Do you understand?"

"Yes Master," said Xander, avoiding eye contact.

"Good. Get going now. "

"Yes Master. We shall return shortly. Enjoy your guests."

Zaitsev nodded and gestured for his second to go then. Xander twirled about immediately and got into the driver's seat of the limo. A moment later, it was speeding out into the rain, as the huge sliding doors of the warehouse closed behind it. Zaitsev stared out into the night until the doors finally shut with a colossal crash that echoed throughout the almost empty space of the warehouse's interior. He stood for a moment, silent, before he turned around and headed for the elevator. He took his cell phone out of his pocket as he entered and slid the rail across the front of the lift and called for Fan Chou, another of his acolytes, and told him to join him and Josephine in the bottom level to help him move his guests into the other chamber that had not been occupied by Brooklyn and Demona earlier, and which Zaitsev had been preparing since Fang and Malibu had become his captives.

As he finished with the phone he reached out and pressed the button to the bottom floor. A moment later the elevator lurched into life and began to descend as noisily as it had rose a few moments before. Zaitsev stood in the centre of the great space, totally silent, his toothy smile in his elastic-like mouth dark and frightening in anticipation of what was to come. Of the misery he was about to reap. And as he thought of that his smile became all the more terrifying to behold.

This was going, to be fun.

dddbbb

"So you were a Goth?"

"Uh…yeah," replied Fang, sounding slightly embarrassed.

"Hardcore, or, wanna-be?"

Fang sighed, though he was smiling. "Hardcore. I had my hair dyed white with this, really big black streak down the middle and about ten or twenty piercings on my left eyebrow."

"What kind of clothes did you wear? White or black?"

"Black. I was hardcore but not quite _that _hardcore. Only the real psycho-Goths wore white all the time. I was sort of going for that whole Lestat look."

"Hold on," said Mal, grinning, "Lestat?"

"Uh, yeah," replied Fang awkwardly, looking down at the floor between his feet. "You know, that, vampire from the Anne Rice novels."

"I know who Lestat is," smiled Mal. "But when you say you were going for his 'look', could you just sort of define for me what exactly you were wearing?"

"FrilledshirtsI'ddyedblack," whispered Fang under his breath, very, very quickly, hoping Mal might not have heard. They were both sitting beside each other on the bed that Fang had so violently woken up on, backs leaning against the cold wall, their wings caped. There had been some initial awkwardness when Fang had realised that both he and Mal were naked several seconds after he'd awoke, but after a few minutes they'd both eventually had gotten over it. Fang yawned. The adrenaline rush that had woken him up had faded away very quickly and left him feeling incredibly weak, although not so much that he passed out again. He had needed his friend's help to sit up against the wall.

"Whoa, hold it," said Mal, leaning over slightly. "Did you say you wore _frilled_ shirts?"

Fang sighed. "Yes."

"As in, _women's_ shirts?"

Fang sighed again. "Yes."

Mal threw his head back and burst out laughing. It was a sound Fang had missed hearing the past few days and it made him smile, only now a little embarrassed. After another moment he joined his best friend in the laughter, although his voice was still weak and it could be barely heard over Mal's.

"Couldn't you have worn something else?" asked the light green gargoyle, wiping a tear from his eye. "I mean, weren't you ever afraid that some big bruiser was gonna beat the crap out of you or something?"

"Well," explained Fang, still smiling, "I had sort of cut the arms of them so that people could see my muscles underneath because at that stage I was a pretty big guy. I'd done _a lot_ of weights training and martial arts that really helped me to vent a lot of the anger. It sort of mellowed me out a little so that I didn't just have a go at anybody who'd made a snide comment about me or one of my friends. I mean I was still pretty violent even then but I had a little more control of myself. I'd started reading a lot when I wasn't doing weights or hanging out at the Goth bars and clubs and that sort of helped too." He chuckled, noticing Mal's interested look. "I know how old this must make me sound, but when I was growing up Tolkien and Stephen King and Anne Rice were all I had to read. You've no idea how friggin lucky you are with all the fantasy authors that are running around today."

"I guess I am lucky," replied Mal, smiling. "I really feel sorry for you. I mean, Tolkien just sucks."

"Hey, wait a second," said Fang, shocked. "He does not suck!"

"Yes he does."

"No he doesn't!"

"Yes he does!"

"Have you even read his work?" asked Fang suddenly.

"Of course I've read his stuff," laughed Mal. "And he's crap! All the details seem to just focus on all the boring parts like the scenery! The few times you actually come to pieces of action they're all over in a few paragraphs. When I was reading _The Fellowship_ it felt like I was torturing myself."

"But he was the first to ever write a real serious novel on the whole fantasy scene," replied Fang, shaken by Mal's dislike of one of his idols.

"Why does that make him good?" asked Mal, genuinely interested. "I mean, he may have been the first to write a book like that, but just because he did that it shouldn't mean he should be the only one put on a pedestal. There's gotta be a hundred fantasy authors out there that are a thousand times better than Tolkien, but you never hear anything of them because they weren't the first. It doesn't really make a lot of sense if you ask me."

Fang stared at him for a moment, silent, before he smiled and said: "You know what? I have no response to that. Can we talk about something else please? This conversation's _really_ starting to make me feel old."

Mal covered his mouth and snickered. "Okay, okay." He folded his arms over his chest and gave Fang a wry smile. "Think we're gonna get rescued?"

"Of course we'll get rescued," said Fang with an air of supreme confidence. "Goliath might be a horse's ass, but he doesn't seem like the type to just abandon people who need his help."

"But…what if he's in the next cell?"

"What? A nude prisoner like us?" grinned Fang.

"Why'd they strip us anyway?"

"To demoralise us, to humiliate us," sighed Fang, tiredly. He shut his eyes and after a moment, a playful smirk spread across his muzzled face. "Maybe…just maybe mind you, they were hired to capture us by a gang of horney Amazon women," he said, looking at the opposite wall, his arms resting on his lap. "Who are all planning to tie all of us up on a bed one at a time, so they can ravish us over and over again, till we pass out from exhaustion." He looked back at Mal, smiling until he noticed the look on the young gargoyle's face. "What? A guy can dream can't he?"

Mal shook his head, smiling, and pretended to look heavenward in frustration before both he and Fang sat back against the wall, folding their arms over their chests simultaneously, quiet for a moment in a friendly silence. After a little while Fang's eyes narrowed a little as he thought something over.

"Whadda ya think about Lexington?" He asked Mal, turning over to look at him.

"I like him," said Mal honestly, looking over at Fang. "I really like him. He and Broadway are pretty decent guys. Why?"

"I think he's gay."

"Oh come on!"

"No, seriously," said Fang, smiling, raising his hands mock defensively. "I'm pretty sure the guy's gay."

"And what exactly are you basing this on?"

Fang grinned. "The fact he's been checking you out when he thought nobody was looking."

"Oh for God's sake," groaned Mal, rolling his eyes. "You're being ridiculous! What the Hell makes you think he was checking me out?"

"I saw him stare at you every time you took off your shirt and t-shirt to change them. I saw him stare at you from across the top floor of that bus thing Demona had until you turned your back on him."

"That doesn't make him gay!"

"Then what does it make him?" asked Fang, grinning.

"Uh," said Mal, awkwardly. "I dunno. But…I'm pretty sure he isn't. I mean…even if he was, which I don't think he is…why the Hell would he be checking _me _out?"

"I dunno," said Fang, still grinning. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back up against the wall till his face was staring upwards. "Maybe he's got a thing for fat guys?" he said playfully after a moment's pause.

"Will you quit it with the mind games already? Please?" asked Mal, rolling his eyes. "Lex isn't gay and he wasn't checking…wait," he paused, realising something. "What do you mean by 'fat' guys?"

"I mean that," said Fang, smiling, his eyes still closed as he reached out with his arm and patted Mal's scarred, slightly rounded belly a couple of times with the back of his hand. "That little lard deposit you've got hanging off your waist. You know if you're not careful you're gonna end up looking like Hollywood."

Mal looked down at his waist and ran his clawed hands up and down his stomach a couple of times. "Okay," he said, relenting after a moment, "I guess I…have kinda put on a little weight. I know I should be working out a little more and eating well…_a lot_ less, but, come on Fang, cut me a little slack okay? I mean a few months ago I was hunting fucking _rats_ for supper. But then all of a sudden, I wound up with cash. And…with it I actually had…freedom." He shifted a little, looking at the concrete between his feet. "Before all this crap started I didn't actually care that I was getting a little fat. I just was desperate to…well…"

"Live?"

"Yeah…live," said Mal. He patted his stomach and smiled a little. "You know…it doesn't really feel that bad. I can kinda see why Broadway hasn't really done too much to lose weight other than his swordplay. It feels well, kind of comfortable really. But if it bothers you I'll just make sure I don't put anymore on. Kay?"

"Kay," agreed Fang. He looked over at him and smiled. "Look…this isn't me telling you how to live your life okay? It's just I don't want you tripping over a spare tire or something when we get outta here and I finish teaching you how to shoot or how to fight. Alright?"

"Sure," smiled the young gargoyle. They both sat back together in another friendly silence, although Malibu was rolling around what Fang had just said about Lexington in his head. After a while, feeling very, very awkward, he asked: "Fang? Were…were you being serious? I mean about Lexington? I mean…are...are you sure he's gay?"

"Pretty sure," replied Fang casually, cupping his hands together behind his head as he sat, eyes closed. "Why? Does that bother you?"

"I don't know," replied Mal honestly. He looked down at his waist again and ran a taloned hand over his stomach. "It's just…I don't know. Are you sure he was checking me out? It's just Brooklyn talked a lot about Lex and Broadway. As far as I remember he _never_ said anything that even hinted about Lex being…uh, like that."

"In case you haven't noticed kid," smiled Fang, eyes still closed. "Brooklyn isn't exactly insightful when it comes to reading people. Look what happened with Demona. I know he's great with languages and highly educated and all that crap, but when it comes to people, _Christ_ but he's a moron!"

"You never really liked him, did you?"

"Actually, I did," said Fang, turning his head to look at Mal. "I don't think he and I would have ever had the sort of thing you and me have got going but…I think I _could_ have considered him a friend."

"Could?" Repeated Mal, concerned.

"Yeah," said Fang. He looked away from his friend and looked at the bed on the opposite side of the wall. Mal stayed quite for a little while. The look on Fang's face as he stared at the wall clearly indicating that this was a subject he didn't want to discuss, not here anyway, as the walls may have ears.

Mal looked away with his face, though his eyes watched Fang's face carefully. It was that same look of helpless fury he'd seen on his friend's face when he talked about when his father beat his mother, or when Mal had come to watch over him in his glass cage, beaten, his hair dirty and stinking of sewage. Fang was probably still angry at himself for what had happened, though Mal couldn't understand why. Brooklyn had attacked and tortured him with magic. There had been no way that Fang could have stopped him even if he had known what was going on. Though of course that wouldn't stop him from being furious with himself for not being able to protect the ones he loved from every threat.

The seconds crawled by. Mal wanted to say something comforting to Fang. Something to make him realise that there was nothing that he could have done, and that he should except that fact and get on with his life. But he wasn't sure how to say it. And he knew that, even if he found the proper words, it wouldn't really change anything. Fang would nod, smile, thank him, and still be angry at what he believed was a failure on his part. The cougar mutate could be unbelievably stubborn when it came to things such as that. The best way to approach this sort of thing with Fang, was to change the subject to something that might get him in a better mood, so he'd forget what angered him, if only for a little while. You didn't push things with Fang. He would only talk about what it was that bothered him when he was ready.

Mal thought over what he could say for a while. It didn't take him long to think of a fun subject.

"Wanna sing?"

Fang seemed to snap out of his thoughts and looked over at him questioningly. "Huh?"

"Wanna sing?" smiled Mal, "it'll pass the time."

Fang shook his head, chuckling; the tension in his body already clearly vanishing. "I can't sing kid."

"Neither can I," replied Mal simply.

"I know," grinned Fang. "I could hear you singing along to all those Verve and Train songs when I was outside your room a few times. When I first heard you, I thought you were strangling a cat or something."

"Oh, _thanks_," said Mal sarcastically. "You really know how to sugar coat things, ya know that Fang?"

"Hey I'm only telling you the truth. I thought you hated lies?"

"Not when they're little white ones!" Mal said, mock angry, smiling. "Could a little tact have hurt there?"

"Okay, okay" smiled Fang, raising his hands in defeat. "If I agree to sing with you, will you promise to calm down?"

"Sure."

"Great. Whadda ya wanna sing?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Mal. "What do you fancy singing first?"

Fang rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, before he grinned as an idea came to him. "I think I've thought of one," he said after another moment.

"What is it?" asked Mal, trying not to smile at the look on his best friend's face.

"It's a good one," grinned Fang, rubbing his shoulders, working some of the tension out of them. "You're bound to know the words. God knows I've heard ya listen to it enough."

"Okay," said Mal, suddenly intrigued.

"You do the chorus, okay?"

"Okay."

"Right. And a One, and a two, and a…

"_I'm a Lumberjack and I'm okay…_"

dddbbb

The elevator screeched to a halt. Josephine came forward and slid the rail open and then Zaitsev stepped out, followed by Fan Chou, with the female Nosferatu bringing up the rear. Standing attention, awaiting her master's arrival, stood Elsa. The crimson haired Nosferatu had fully recovered from the injuries that she had received the previous evening in much the same way that Katrina had; completely draining a homeless person wandering the streets to speed up her healing, for a Nosferatu's healing process was remarkably slow and draining. The dark power that flowed through their veins required a great deal of fresh, living blood to heal any serious wounds. The longer it took to acquire such an amount of blood, the harder it would be, as their strength would rapidly diminish, since all their unholy power would be stretched into slow healing and change in the case of the young ones, rather than what was needed to maintain their immortality and strength. A serious wound that slowed a young vampire such as Elsa (she had only been born unto the dark, as Zaitsev called it, a few months ago) down enough that feeding became difficult, could rapidly lead to their demise.

"Is everything prepared?" asked Zaitsev.

"Yes Master," said Elsa. Zaitsev smiled. Elsa was a sick bitch, and that was why he, personally, had given her The Kiss. She was perfect as a protégé, as it kept the scheming Xander, who was also an excellent protégé in his own ways, on his toes. Their constant competition would make them both strive even harder to do their master's bidding, and to achieve more in his name. 

Zaitsev smiled inwardly. Their desperation to outdo each other amused him greatly. For if they, and all his cabal, were to die tomorrow, either by his hand (out of sheer boredom) or by another's, he wouldn't care less. There were always more fools out there for him to control. He knew that he would have forgotten all of their names within a week.

"And our guests?" he inquired.

"They've been awake for a while now Master," replied Elsa. "I have watched them." Both of the cells were equipped with heat sensors under the walls, allowing the occupants to be watched without ever being aware of the fact.

"Are they lovers?"

"No," stated Elsa. "They both seem heterosexual, though they seem very close."

"This should be even more fun then," giggled Fan Chou. Zaitsev's ancient eyes glared a warning at him, which shut the Eastern Nosferatu up instantly. Fan Chou was tall and slender as a knife. He was well tanned for a man of the Orient, and was handsome in a disturbingly feminine way. Ruby red rouge was on his cheeks, bright red lipstick was on his lips and dark green eye shadow covered his eyes like bruises. His hair, which he had dyed platinum blonde, was cut short and spiked. He was dressed in his skin-tight black leather fetish suit, which covered every inch of his lithe body other than his head, and was fully equipped with chrome spikes along the arms, legs, knuckles and shoulders. He was an assassin of a Triad before Zaitsev had found him. Zaitsev had liked him, because his one hobby was the raping of fully conscious straight men. The whole cabal referred to him mockingly as "The Gimp", but he liked the name greatly. It was he who had wielded the Kung-Fu swords against Demona, and whom she had defeated with frightening ease. This meant he was eager for vengance in some form or another, but only if it involved hurting a male friend of hers, of course.

Elsa and Josephine despised Fan Chou, and were never afraid to display their contempt of the man. Unlike them, Zaitsev had bedded Fan Chou, as he had with most of the rest of the cabal. It wasn't that he was not attracted to either of their looks, but it was simply to sow more discord among his followers, so he could watch in amusement as they tried to disgrace or kill each other. Over the passage of the millennia, Zaitsev had found many ways to keep himself busy and amused.

"Josephine," said Zaitsev suddenly, not looking at her. "Open the door to the room and prepare the floor manacles and one of the pairs on the wall. We shall join you momentarily."

Josephine, the dark skinned Kama sickle wielding Nosferatu that Demona had also defeated the previous night snapped her heals together, said: "Yes Master!" and then turned about and marched down the thin corridor to the dark panelled door on the right. She had been an agent for the Algerian government for thirteen years before Zaitsev had taken her, and her confident, focused stride showed this. Whether Demona's easy victory over her upset her or not, it was impossible to tell, even for the oldest of all her kind.

"Now then," Zaitsev smiled darkly, "let's have a closer look at our guests, shall we?"

He gestured to Elsa and she went over to the reinforced steel door. She took a large key out of the pocket of her knee-length, brown snake-skin coat. She unlocked the door with a loud, ominous _click_ before she roughly pulled the door open.

dddbbb

"Well," sighed Fang, hearing the _click_ of the lock. "Here we go."

Mal looked down at his hands. They were trembling. His legs felt hollow, useless; his belly suddenly felt as if it were full of lead.

"Easy kid," whispered his best friend, his brother. "It's okay being afraid. Just make sure that _they_ don't know it."

Fang's voice gave him comfort. He smiled weakly, thought, _the worst that they can do is kill us_, oblivious for the moment, at how wrong a statement that was. They both looked up as the door was swung roughly open. They watched the trio enter from where they sat. Fang was still too weak to stand on his own and Mal had no illusions as to what would happen if he tried to overpower their captors without help. He felt their penetrating eyes roving over his naked body. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable and ashamed of his nudity and crossed his arms protectively over his crotch, avoiding eye contact with either of the two men and the one woman. He didn't have to look at Fang to know that the cougar mutate would just be staring back at them defiantly, sitting as he had while they had talked. Mal wished desperately that he was more like him at that moment. Fang would be damned if he gave any of their mysterious captors the satisfaction of knowing their attempt at humiliation was working.

"Hey there," Fang said, looking over the one trying to look like the Gimp from _Pulp Fiction_, nonplussed. "Nice threads. Don't know about the spikes though."

"You must be Fang," said the man in the centre of the trio, the bald man who Mal remembered had beaten the absolute daylights out of him. He was a lot fatter and _a lot_ bigger in the light. Like Mal's his eyes were grey, though a much darker, frightening shade. He could feel his dark eyes roving over his body and he tried his best not to shudder. He felt cold, very cold suddenly. He wanted a blanket, a coat, _anything_ to cover himself with. The way he felt those peoples' eyes watching him…it started to make him feel sick.

"Hatchling," the huge, brute of a man said, his pit bull voice loud, imperious. "_Look_ up at me."

Mal gulped. He tried to shut his eyes, but suddenly he found he had no power over himself anymore. The cell suddenly seemed smaller, claustrophobic. The cold, dank air suddenly seemed to be laced with the stench of death that sometimes permeated the long, winding corridors of Talon's underground kingdom of the desolate. He felt his head starting to jerk upwards awkwardly, no longer under his control. His palms stung as he felt his claw tipped fingers dig into them. He felt the huge man's eyes rove over him as his eyes finally drifted upwards.

It was like being in the shadow of a mountain. The light above covered up the features of his bald, fat face. But…somehow he could still see the eyes, in the darkness and shadow. They were no longer grey. They had become a pair of sickly coloured yellow orbs in the shadow; pitiless, sick, evil.

He watched the man's face stretch out unnaturally as he smiled down on him, exposing _all_ the teeth in his almost elastic like mouth. Mal saw a pair of sharp, elongated fangs. Beside him, he heard his best friend swear in shock.

"So," said the monster in the human's shell. His voice was deep, his accent clearly Russian, though his words were still quite articulate. "You're the puppet's clone, eh?"

Puppet? 

Mal tried to open his mouth, but he could not. He wanted to know what this…thing meant by that. He knew it was Brooklyn he was referring to. He suddenly remembered the strange look in Brooklyn's eyes that night he used magic to torture him. Could…could this mean that Brooklyn _was_ being controlled? But if that were so, who was controlling Brooklyn? And why?

The creature smiled malevolently down at him. "I see I have sparked your interest. No matter. You're not going anywhere soon." He drew a chrome, stub-nosed revolver from his long, heavy brown coat. The woman beside him drew an old looking service pistol. "Pick your friend up," he said, levelling his gun at Mal and Fang almost lazily. He sounded strangely bored. "I wouldn't advise resisting us young one. I could break both of your necks without the slightest of efforts."

Mal's mouth felt very dry. There was something in the tone of the man's voice that made him feel he wasn't lying. Despite the fresh wave of fear that was starting to hit him, he looked away calmly enough to Fang for guidance. The cougar mutate nodded solemnly.

"There's nothing we can do kid," Fang said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Not yet, at least."

Mal nodded. Trying to swallow down his fear, he stood up and went over to Fang. He bent over, pretending the other three weren't in the room, watching his every move, he took Fang's outstretched wrist and wrapped his chestnut-fur covered arm and wrapped it over his shoulders while putting his other arm gently around Fang's waist.

_I am not naked_, he thought as he hefted Fang's weight up into his arms, grunting in effort a little. _I am not naked_.

_I'm naked, Mal's naked, these people aren't, and that's cool_, thought Fang, noticing the look on the Gimp's face. He was tough looking, despite the ridiculous get up. The girl looked like less of a challenge. It was just the big guy that really worried him. He definitely looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight from what Mal told him. And there were probably a couple of more of them waiting outside, unless these people were _really_ confident about being able to hold them. From what Mal had said about them, they did sound pretty dangerous. He wished he wasn't feeling so weak. He wanted to jump these people and give Mal a chance to escape, but as his friend half-carried him into the corridor, he knew that he wouldn't have gotten far. This place was built like a fortress. He wondered briefly where they were. Were they outside of St. Petersburg, or still inside of it somewhere? He noticed the door to another cell and wondered who might be in there. If they only captured him and Mal, then they could have put them in separate cells, but they didn't. That meant there were others here. If only he knew who. They were pretty quiet. Mal said Broadway had been shot, so maybe that was him in there, if he was still alive of course. Fang hoped he was. He seemed like a really nice guy. He considered calling out to whoever may have been in the cell, but he had a feeling he'd get a pistol whip over the back of the head if he opened his mouth.

He looked down the narrow corridor. There were two doors. Reinforced oak; panelled and black as night. One was lying open. He couldn't see inside. A woman was standing in his way. Her skin was ebony. Her face and thick lips were cruel. Her eyes were a penetrating shade of beige.

Fang felt a lump on his throat. He felt powerless, and hated that feeling more than any other. He didn't really care what they did to him, for he had been tortured before. It was Mal he was worried about. When he had been tortured, it hadn't been pleasant. They'd been Serbians, and he'd been part of a small team hired by a group of wealthy Macedonians to kill a Serb commander committing war crimes in Kosovo, or at least that's what his brief had told him. They had done a lot worse to him than that red-skinned, rat-faced bastard had done to Mal. But he'd gotten away, with difficulty. These people seemed a lot better prepared to keep prisoners than them.

"Who are you people?" he asked, curious. There could be a name here he knew.

"Their names are unimportant," said the big guy, behind them, keeping them covered. "The only name here that you should know is _mine_."

"And you are?"

"Gregor Zaitsev," said the huge guy smugly. Fang could feel the cocky fucker smiling behind him. "Mark it well. I guarantee that it will be one you shall hate soon enough."

Fang looked over at Mal's face. The poor kid was terrified, but trying not to show it. He was looking straight ahead, eyes fixed firmly on some point of the wall _above _the hateful looking black woman. He seemed paler, younger; more vulnerable in that moment. It was a child holding him up at that moment. Fang felt his mouth going dry. He felt as if he were choking. They were both going to be hurt, Mal was going to be hurt…and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His right hand went down to his waist, where Mal's hand was holding him up by a tuft of fur near his navel. He squeezed it tightly. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything right then. But it was enough. Mal squeezed back gently. His kind, youthful grey eyes shut. The lips on his beak curved slightly into a brave smile. He nodded, gulped. Nothing needed to be said. Not between them. They were brothers.

Mal stopped moving suddenly. Fang looked up.

They had reached the door.

"In," hissed Zaitsev. "_Now_."

Clutching each other tightly, the mutate and the gargoyle went inside.

To be continued…

Nurgle belongs to the Games Workshop. The Gargoyles and their allies and enemies belong to Disney and Greg Weismen. The original characters belong to me.


End file.
